


The Wolf's Tale

by darkestlordsaroon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Remus Lupin, Gay Sirius Black, Hurt Remus Lupin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, POV Remus Lupin, Quidditch, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Werewolf Politics, Werewolf Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22845619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkestlordsaroon/pseuds/darkestlordsaroon
Summary: In a world where there was no war and Remus Lupin never went to Hogwarts, he ends up owning a small bookshop in Hogsmeade. Sirius Black, professional Quidditch player and Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor, wanders into his store one day with his godson Harry and is immediately smitten.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 165
Kudos: 414





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!  
> This fic started out as a fun lighthearted response to a prompt from Remus Lupin fest 2020 and quickly got out of hand.  
> I just love these two boys so much and had so much fun writing them, especially anxious Remus, that I just kept going and going....  
> As of now the fic is incomplete, but I write every day and know where, roughly, it will end!  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!
> 
> CW: Werewolf gore, anxious/self deprecating thoughts. Remus is a little bundle of anxiety who swears a lot.

The alarm clock blares across the flat, and Remus rolls his eyes in frustration as he hauls himself out of his comfortable armchair to go turn it off. He’s been up for two hours already with the impending full moon humming through his veins, but had apparently forgotten to disable the alarm. Just another case of “Moon Brain”, as his mother so lovingly dubs it. He smiles at the thought, stopping in front of the mirror to fuss with his hair and straighten his jumper.

Satisfied, he heads back to the other room and picks up his keys. He’s already up and caffeinated, might as well head down to the shop and get a jump start on the day. 

He locks the door behind him and makes his way carefully down the narrow wooden steps, hip protesting at the movement. The joint pain always flares up around the full moon, and today is no different. Remus finds himself panting slightly and wincing by the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He hooks the chain with the sign “ _P_ _rivate! No entry!”_ hanging from it across the stairwell, and heads over to the register of his bookshop.

By the time he finishes counting out the change for the register and filing through the day’s post, the sun is fully up and shining through the shop windows. He unlocks the door, switches the sign to “open”, and heads back to his pile of mail to peruse the advance copies he’s received.

Nothing overly interesting. The latest in the overly popular erotica series “ _Crossed Wands_ ”, a biography of the Tornado’s ex-Captain Damien Whitwell, who had been found only last year to be the source behind the performance enhancing potions circling through the League, and a book from an author he doesn’t recognize, entitled “ _Do You Know Who Makes Your Tea? Centuries of house-elf enslavement and the psychological traumas it has induced._ ” Remus snorts at the title and sets it aside.

His first customer of the day walks in, Sonya from the tailor’s next door.

“Hiya,” she smiles at him, picking up her Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly from the rack by the door and heading over to him.

“Morning,” he smiles back. “Good night last night?”

“Amazing!” she gushes. “Home match for Portree against Puddlemere. We got squashed, obviously, but it was an amazing match.”

Bemused, Remus rings up her items as she goes through a play by play rundown of the match, from Portree’s promising fifty point lead all the way to the Puddlemere Beater knocking down their Seeker the second before she caught the Snitch. Sonya hands over a couple Sickles, now lamenting the fact that the Puddlemere Beater is such a brutal player, because he is, in her words, “fit as _fuck_ ”.

“Sorry, I’m waffling,” she says, tucking the magazine under her arm.

“Waffle away,” Remus grins. “I just never really was one for Quidditch.”

“Shame. Those players…” she bats her eyes and fans her forehead, swooning her way to the door. 

“Said I wasn’t one for Quidditch, I’ve got nothing against the players.” Remus winks at her and she snorts with laughter.

“Seeya,” she calls, door shutting behind her.

The rest of the morning passes uneventfully. A few more regulars from the surrounding shops pop in for their Daily Prophet and a chat, a group of giggly middle aged witches enquire about the newest _Crossed Wands_ , and a morose looking teenager sits silently in the Muggle Fiction section. 

Sometime after noon, Remus’ stomach is grumbling noisily and he’s wondering if it’d be terribly rude to ask the teen to leave so he can go grab a cottage pie from the Three Broomsticks for lunch. The door opens and he groans internally before fixing a smile on the customers walking in. When he notices it’s Harry, his smile turns genuine.

“Hi, Mr Lupin,” Harry waves, stepping aside to allow a tall man to step in.

“Hello, Harry.” Remus rummages under the counter for the house-elf book he put there this morning. “I’ve got another one for Hermione here.”

When Remus straightens up again, Harry is standing by the counter along with his friend, who is stunningly handsome and peering around the shop with interest. His eyes land on Remus and he smiles, cheek dimpling. Remus clears his throat and hands Harry the book. Harry laughs at the title.

“She’ll definitely appreciate this,” he says, tucking it into his bag. 

“That’s what I’m hoping. That way she can give me a summary so I won’t have to slog through it.”

The man laughs, and Remus feels an unfortunate flush rise in his cheeks.

“Oh, Mr Lupin, this is Sirius, my godfather,” Harry says, gesturing vaguely. “Sirius, Mr Lupin.”

“Remus, please,” he says, holding out his hand for a slightly awkward handshake over the counter.

“Pleasure,” Sirius says, silver eyes making his flush worsen.

“How can I help you today, Harry?” Remus forces his attention back to Harry, feeling Sirius still staring at him.

“I need a new Potions book. My old one melted.”

Remus laughs, heading over to the textbook section. “Well, that’s original.”

“It was Seamus’ fault,” Harry says, picking up a book about identifying magical fungi and flipping through. “He turned our Cheering Solution into something...melty.” He makes a face at a picture inside the book and snaps it shut. “Eurgh! Anyway, I don’t much fancy having Snape dock me points because Seamus ruined my book.”

"Slimy git," Sirius murmurs from behind them. 

Remus glances at him, surprised to hear an adult badmouth a teacher in front of a student. Sirius is thumbing carelessly through Witch Weekly, dark hair falling across his face. He looks up, catching Remus' slightly admonishing gaze. 

"Have you met him?" Sirius says, "he really is slimy. And a git." 

Harry is nodding gravely. "It's true." 

Remus shakes his head and turns back to the books to hide his grin. He has met Severus Snape multiple times since opening his bookshop in Hogsmeade. It was inevitable, given the proximity to Hogwarts. He isn't a huge fan of the brooding, glowering demeanor, but he never outwardly bothered Remus. And while perhaps "slimy" isn't the word he would go for, there is definitely a certain… _oily_ quality. 

"Here you go," he pulls out a slightly dusty copy of Advanced Potions and holds it out to Harry. 

"Oh my god," came a shocked voice from behind him. "You're Sirius Black." 

The morose teenager is standing a couple feet away, clutching a worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_ to his chest and gaping at Sirius, who looks bemused. 

"It's true," Sirius says, holding out a hand. The boy just stares. 

Harry is rolling his eyes. "Every time…" he mutters.

Completely bewildered but not wanting to embarrass himself by asking, Remus watches as Sirius autographs a bit of parchment for the starstruck young man. He immediately sets down _Wuthering Heights_ and dashes from the shop, letting out a steady stream of _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ as he goes. 

"I think you just lost me a customer," Remus muses. 

"Terribly sorry," says Sirius, "how can I make it up to you?" His eyes are glittering with something Remus can't quite place, and he swallows nervously.

"No harm done," he says, heading over to the register to ring up Harry's book, trying to put as much distance between himself and Sirius as possible. 

Sirius follows him immediately. "I insist. Do you drink coffee?" 

Remus can feel his whole face burning. He scans Harry's book, noticing the look of amusement on the boy's face and trying his best to ignore it. 

"I assure you that the book costs more than a cup of coffee," he says. "Two galleons, please." 

"Great, then dinner?" Sirius asks persistently. "When do you get off?"

"Sorry," Remus says, slightly fed up. "I realise I'm missing something here, but I don't actually know you."

Sirius grins, and Remus hates his perfect straight teeth and adorable dimple.

"I know," Sirius says. "That would be the point of dinner. Get to know each other." He holds out his hand again, and Remus eyes it warily. "Sirius Black, pleasure to meet you. Beater for Puddlemere United Quidditch Team as well as Beater for England National."

Remus stares at him for a moment, then glares at Harry. 

"Harry, you couldn't have led with that?" 

Harry laughs. "I've never had to."

"Yes, well," Remus says, flustered. "Two Galleons, please. No celebrity discount, I'm afraid." 

Sirius laughs and hands over the coins, fingers lingering a moment too long in Remus' palm. "I wouldn't dare to presume. So, dinner tonight?" 

"I…" Remus hesitates, a genuine wave of regret flooding him, followed immediately by a flash of shame. "I can't tonight."

"Tomorrow? I'm in town for a couple more days after the match. Gotta watch over this one." He nudges Harry in the ribs. 

Harry snorts. "More like get fawned over by overeager villagers. Come on, I have to get back to the castle." 

The door opens and Sonya enters, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee and a pack of biscuits under her arm. She stops dead at the sight of Sirius, mouthing from behind him _oh my God!_

"Tomorrow!" says Sirius as Harry pulls him from the shop. "I won't take no for an answer!"

Sonya steps aside to let them pass, mouth dropping open when Sirius drops her a casual "Alright?" on his way out. 

The door clicks shut and she turns on Remus.

"What the _fuck?"_

Renus groans and drops his head into his hands. What the fuck was right. 

\----

Remus wakes up with blood in his mouth. His hip is throbbing with pain, and something on his chest feels sharp and hot. He turns his head to the side and spits a wad of blood onto the forest floor. He lies still for a minute, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the pain coursing through his body. He digs his fingertips into the soft dirt beneath him and concentrates.

_Accio Wand._

It takes a couple minutes, but soon he can feel the tug on his magic as his wand comes zipping towards him. He catches it, screws his eyes shut, and _turns_.

He’s gasping on his bathroom floor, face pressed against the cold tiles, blood streaming from his nose. He stretches out an arm and roots around in the cabinet beneath the sink until he recognizes and pulls out a small vial of pain potion. Sipping from the corner of his mouth, he drops the bottle and waits for the potion to take effect. 

Slowly, the pain begins to dull. He pushes himself to his knees, then grips the edge of the sink to wobble unsteadily to his feet. He takes a deep breath and waits for the wave of dizziness to pass, then raises his head to examine the damage in the mirror.

He’s almost completely covered in blood. Fresh blood from his nose is mixing with the dried, nearly brown blood caking his chin, neck and chest. He spits once more, noticing a few thick brown hairs splattered amongst the mess. Probably rabbit. Maybe deer. 

A deep gash stretches across his chest, possibly from another wolf. He wants to wash it before attempting any kind of healing, knowing it will help the scarring. He limps slowly over to the bathtub, letting the water run until it’s steaming hot before stepping in. The scalding water burns even through the pain potion, but Remus doesn’t stop scrubbing until the water pooling at his feet is clear.

Once dry, he heals his chest wound as meticulously as he can, watching the skin knit together beneath his wand. He lets out a long, shaky breath, and heads into the bedroom. 

A glance at the clock shows him there’s two and a half hours until opening. He sets an alarm for two hours from now and falls into bed.

\---

Remus sits behind the counter of the shop, hands clutched around his third cup of tea that day. He finds his mind wandering between customers, always migrating back to a certain Sirius Black.

He has, since yesterday, come to the conclusion that the man is utterly ridiculous. First of all, he hadn’t even set a time or place for this supposed date. Was Remus supposed to just sit around his shop, pining and hoping the big strong Quidditch hero would show up? Secondly, there was absolutely no logical reason a man like him should even be remotely interested in someone like Remus. Sirius is, without a doubt, the most handsome man Remus has ever seen. And Remus, well...he can’t remember the last time he worked out, if ever. His hair is almost completely grey at the temples, and his face littered with scars, not to mention his body.

Thirdly, Remus has done his research. It only took a couple flips through Witch Weekly to find an article about Sirius Black, Britain’s most eligible bachelor. From what he can surmise through the dreadful writing, Sirius appears to be a serial dater, flitting from one partner to the next within weeks. Sonya seemed to vouch for this story as well, saying his sordid affairs often make front page tabloid news. Remus had no desire whatsoever to be another exploit for the frustrated athlete.

And so, even though Remus had seemingly come to the definitely _logical_ conclusion that he wanted nothing to do with this man, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Thinking about his sharp cheekbones and sleek dark hair, his tall, muscular frame and calloused hands. His body, pressed up against Remus, his tongue licking -- 

“How’ve you got tea, you know it’s coffee time!”

Sonya’s voice cuts through his daydream. He blinks at her, then looks down at his cup.

“It’s already cold,” he says. “Besides, it’s one of those ‘you can never have too much caffeine’ days.”

“Hear hear.”

She sets his mug down and pulls up a stool beside him. “Slow day here too?” she asks, ripping into a pack of biscuits. Remus hums in affirmation, sipping his coffee. It’s hot, bitter, and perfect.

“So when is _Mr Black_ expected to make an appearance?” she smirks at him over her own mug.

Remus groans. “Don’t. Who knows if the idiot will even show up. He never told me a time.”

“Maybe he’ll just show up when you close.”

“Maybe. I hope not.”

Sonya cuffs him on the shoulder. “Remus! Do you know how many people would die to be in your position right now?”

“Sonya,” he rolls his eyes, “At the risk of sounding like a seventy year old virgin, I don’t want to be just a notch on some celebrity’s bedpost.”

“Sure, but have you _seen_ this celebrity?”

Remus laughs. “Yes. I have.”

Sonya grabs his arm, glaring hard into his eyes. “No, but have you _seen_ him? I am concerned for your ocular health. You may need glasses.”

"My eyes are perfectly fine." 

They sip their tea in silence for a moment, before Sonya, of course, breaks it. 

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

Remus sighs, knowing nothing good can come out of this line of interrogation. 

"I don't have time for a relationship," he says, sipping his coffee and avoiding Sonya's gaze. 

"Remus, I know how many customers you have per day, and when you close. You have nothing but time." 

Remus glares at her over his mug. "Rude." 

"Seriously, what are you afraid of? Just go on a date with a ridiculously hot guy, have amazing athlete sex with him, no one's asking you to get married." Sonya chews adamantly on a biscuit. "You know I'm right." 

"I'm too old for him," Remus says. 

"You're literally the same age. Next." 

"He is the peak of physical fitness. And then there's me…" he gestures to his cane, leaning against the counter. On the days following the full moon his hip is far too painful to get around without it. 

"He can carry you around," Sonya says, grinning. "My point is, if I come 'round this evening and you are here sulking into a pot of earl grey I will hex you."

Remus heaves a large sigh. "Noted."

"Oh gosh what are you going to _wear_?" 

"This?"

Sonya looks him up and down, taking in the green jumper with slightly faded elbows and brown slacks.

"Let's hope he's into the lonely professor look." 

\---

His anxiety builds as the day wears on, and by the time it's ten minutes to closing and he's counting the day's change, his heart is pounding in his throat. Maybe he really wouldn't come, he convinces himself. Maybe it was all a big joke, maybe he just liked embarrassing people. 

Remus closes the register and heads for the door, switching the sign to "closed". Just as he's about to lock, he notices the tall figure heading for the shop. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm his racing heart, Remus holds the door open and smiles. 

Sirius smiles back and the knot in Remus' stomach tightens. 

"Wasn't sure you'd let me in," Sirius winks. "You ready?" 

"Just have to finish up a couple things in the shop." _And take a cold shower._

Remus steps aside to let Sirius pass, the citrusy scent of his cologne wafting by briefly. Sirius is dressed smartly in dark jeans and a well fitted black leather jacket over a grey button down, and Remus immediately feels inferior. He plucks nervously at the cuff of his jumper, then hobbles over to the counter where he'd left his cane.

"Are you hurt?" Sirius asks, genuine concern in his voice. 

Remus' face burns. "No. Well, yes. Just a pre-existing condition. It flares up now and then." 

He puts the day's earnings in the safe under the counter, locking it with a complex little spell of his own devising. He closes the register and fiddles unnecessarily with the keys, knowing Sirius is staring at him and knowing that he is trying to delay the inevitable. 

"Where are we going? Three Broomsticks?" he asks, pulling on his coat. 

"Nope," Sirius grins. "Edinburgh." 

Remus' eyes widen. "That's quite a trip." 

"I know, making it all the way to Edinburgh and back in one evening. Almost like… _magic_!" Sirius' grin widens as he raises his arms theatrically. 

Remus laughs despite himself. "Alright, fine. Lead on." 

Sirius steps close to him, offering his arm. Remus grabs his elbow tentatively, the smell of leather and citrus overwhelming him slightly. 

"As with any good road trip," Sirius is saying, "you have two options. Scenic, or quick."

"We're not going to Apparate?" Remus asks, confused. 

"That's the quick option." 

"And the scenic?" 

Sirius leads him over to the front of the shop and points through the window. A large red motorbike sits, shining in the last vestiges of sunlight. 

"It's quite a long drive," Remus says, noticing with a jolt that Sirius' hand is now resting on the small of his back. 

"It flies." Sirius' voice is almost a purr, and a shiver runs through Remus. 

"Well," he manages in a strained voice. "As thrilling as that sounds, I'm not sure my hip will agree with me."

"No problem," Sirius says, breath tickling Remus' ear. "Hold on tight." 

Remus barely has time to grab Sirius' elbow again before he Apparates. When he opens his eyes, they're standing in a narrow alleyway surrounded by music and chatter from nearby pubs and restaurants.

"Ok?" Sirius asks, and Remus nods. 

Sirius leads him out to the street and into the restaurant that seems to be the noisiest and most crowded. He doesn't wait for a server to approach, instead winding his way between tables to the very back. Remus feels awkward and clumsy with his cane, and he tries to quell the rising panic that this is a terrible idea. 

They sit down and are immediately brought menus. A quick glance tells him this is a Muggle restaurant. Then he remembers that he is on a date with a Wizarding celebrity, who would most likely enjoy the complete anonymity the Muggle world can offer him. Remus smiles, focusing back on the menu. 

A smiling waitress stops by to take their orders, and Sirius requests a bottle of wine for the table. After they're both poured full glasses, the waitress gathers their menus and leaves, and Remus realizes now is the part of the evening where he's expected to do a lot of talking about himself. A knot in his stomach tightens unpleasantly and he gulps at his wine. 

Sirius is smiling at him. Remus thinks of Sonya's words, _no one's asking you to get married_ , and he smiles back. 

"So I assume from your accent you're from Wales?" Sirius asks. 

"Yes," Remus says, "not far from Cardiff. You're from… London?"

"Yup. Not very exotic." 

"On the contrary," Remus shakes his head. "I've always lived in the country. Cities are very exotic." 

Sirius laughs. "Oh good. I've chosen a good venue for our first date, then." 

Remus' stomach tightens even more at the implication behind "first" date. He nods and raises his glass. "Cheers." 

"I don't remember you from Hogwarts," Sirius says, setting down his glass. "Did you go somewhere internationally?" 

"I was home schooled, actually," Remus replies, fidgeting again with the cuff of his jumper. He can't remember the last time he had a willing conversation about his childhood and upbringing. Probably with Sonya, years ago when he had just moved in. "My dad went, though. He was a Ravenclaw." 

"So he taught you?" 

"Him and Mum both. Dad did the magic stuff, Mum the Muggle parts." The wine was starting to buzz pleasantly in his head. "How about you? What house were you in?" 

"Gryffindor," Sirius says, leaning back slightly in his chair. "How did you end up in Hogsmeade? Isn't there a Wizarding village near Cardiff? Twill…?"

"Tylwaerdreath," Remus says automatically. Sirius grins and his eyes flash. Remus feels Sirius' knee press against his and he takes another long swig of wine.

"Well, to answer your question, I suppose that just like anyone who's been cooped up in one place too long, I just wanted to get as far away as I could." Remus nods in thanks as Sirius tops off his wine glass. "Diagon Alley already has Flourish and Blotts, so I figured Hogsmeade was the next best thing." 

Sirius opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the arrival of their food. Sirius has ordered a steak, while Remus ordered the cheapest thing he could find without making it obvious that that was what he was doing. In this case, a roast beef sandwich with a side of crisps. 

He bites into a crisp, raising his wine glass. "A fine pairing," he says in as snobby a tone as he can muster. 

Sirius laughs and clinks his glass against Remus'. 

"You're welcome to try my steak," he says, "although fair warning, I did order rare." 

"That's the only way to eat a steak," Remus says gravely, biting into his sandwich. 

Sirius smiles at him so intensely that for a moment Remus forgets to chew. He swallows and drains his wine glass. Sirius immediately fills it again. 

"How did you… know?" Remus blurts out. His head is definitely fuzzy now, but he reaches for his wine again anyway. The pain in his hip is barely noticeable. 

"Hmm? Know what?" Sirius chews on his steak, and Remus' eyes lock on his throat rising and falling as he swallows. 

"That I'm...That I'd be interested," he finishes lamely. 

Sirius shrugs. "I didn't. But I'm interested, and I figured if you weren't I would probably know by now. Try some steak." 

He holds out his fork, a small slice of meat dangling from the end. 

"You can put it on my plate," Remus says, pushing aside crisps to make room. 

"Can I?" Sirius is smirking, leaning forward on the table, not lowering his fork. He's rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, and the thin fabric is straining at his biceps. Remus knows he is blushing and can't seem to care. 

"You're ridiculous," Remus says hoarsely, and leans forward himself to bite the steak off the fork, his eyes never leaving Sirius'. Something warm and intense rushes through him, raw carnal feelings he hasn't allowed himself to address for far too long. Remus finds himself unconsciously licking his lips and immediately crashes back to reality, feeling absolutely ridiculous. 

"Good steak," he clears his throat, looks down at his half finished sandwich. 

Sirius is refilling his wine glass. Remus frowns. 

"How do we still have wine?" 

"Refilling charm." 

"That's - isn't that stealing?" Remus whispers, glancing around to make sure no servers are waiting to jump on them. 

"We paid for the bottle," Sirius says lightly, biting into a chip. 

"We paid for _a_ bottle," Remus hisses. He bats Sirius' hand away from the bottle. "No more!" 

"Yes, sir," Sirius grins, returning to his steak. 

The conversation turns to Sirius as they finish their meals. Remus learns that he met James Potter at Hogwarts and became nearly inseparable friends, and that he'd always wanted to be an Auror. 

"Why didn't you apply?" Remus asks as Sirius gestures for the bill. 

"Quidditch was easier," Sirius says. "I already knew I was good at it. And James was so good at all that Auror stuff anyway… I just didn't want it to become a competition between us." 

Remus wonders what it would be like to have a friend so close that you would give up your dream so they could pursue theirs without competing for it. Something in his chest aches at the thought, all his childhood longing of a Hogwarts education bubbling to the surface. But he hadn't even gotten a letter. He remembers spending most of his eleventh birthday crying in his room, face pressed to his pillow so his parents wouldn't hear. 

The bill arrives, and Remus insists on paying his part until he realizes he hasn't got any Muggle money on him. 

"I'll pay you back," he insists. "What's the exchange rate?" 

"It's fine," Sirius says, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "This is for me losing you that customer yesterday, remember?" 

"Ah, yes. The elaborate plan." 

"It worked, didn't it?" Sirius winks and they get up, pushing their way through the restaurant which has somehow become even more packed. 

Remus breathes in the cool night air gratefully, leaning more heavily on his cane than he would have expected. He’s not sure if it’s because of his hip or the wine.

"Fancy a drink?" Sirius asks, hand coming to rest on Remus' back again. Remus finds himself leaning into the touch. 

"Maybe somewhere a bit quieter?" Remus suggests, not sure if such a place exists in the nearby area. It all seems to be laughing crowds and pulsing music. An idea hits him and he speaks before common sense can kick in. 

"Scotch? Do you like Scotch?" 

"I like Scotch." Sirius seems amused. He's gazing at Remus, hand now rubbing small circles on the small of his back. 

"I have a lot of Scotch. At my place." Remus can feel his cheeks burn and hopes it's dark enough that Sirius doesn't notice. 

Sirius turns to face Remus completely, wrapping his arms around him. The sudden proximity makes Remus' pulse jump in his throat. 

"Alright," Sirius says. He tightens his grip and Apparates them to the front door of Remus' shop. Remus breaks away and fumbles with the keys. 

He doesn't know what he's doing. Why he's invited this man he barely knows to come home with him. Sonya's words " _amazing athlete sex"_ are echoing annoyingly in his head. 

He leads Sirius across the shop and up the stairs to his flat, feeling incredibly self conscious at the small, slightly shabby living room. 

"I don't know why people keep buying me Scotch," he says, opening a small wooden cabinet and pulling out multiple bottles. "Apparently it goes with the middle aged bookshop owner aesthetic." 

Sirius is leaning against the wall, observing him with a smile. "I would have you pegged more for the pajamas and hot cocoa type." 

Remus straightens up and smiles widely. "Would you prefer hot cocoa?" 

"Honestly?" Sirius says, "Yeah." 

Remus stuffs the bottles back in the cabinet and heads into the kitchen. He uncovers his massive block of Honeyduke's best bittersweet chocolate from its spot in the corner and begins to chisel away pieces. 

"Fuck," Sirius laughs from behind him. "I was spot on, wasn't I?" 

"I don't want to brag," Remus says, now putting a pot of milk to heat up. "But this will probably be the best cocoa you've ever had." 

"I'm holding you to that." Sirius is close behind him, and now his hands are on Remus' waist, and now he is turning Remus slowly and Remus has forgotten how to breathe. 

Sirius is still incredibly handsome even from this close up and it's really not fair, Remus thinks, he should at least be able to see some errant nose hairs or something. He's also pretty sure Sirius is going to kiss him now and he should probably think about something other than nose hairs but fuck it's been so long since he's kissed _anyone_ what if he's forgotten how, what if his breath smells like roast beef and Sirius - 

"Are you OK?" Sirius asks, looking concerned. 

"Fine," Remus manages, voice slightly higher than normal. 

"You look panicky." 

"No, I'm just…" Remus hesitates. "Well maybe just a bit. I'm sorry." 

"Why are you apologising?" Sirius takes a step back, hands still wrapped loosely around Remus. 

"I don't know. I'm sorry," Remus says again. 

Sirius smiles, dimple creasing his cheek, and Remus really does want to kiss him. 

"The milk is ready," Sirius says softly. Remus turns his head to see the milk steaming in its pot. He reaches over to turn off the hob and Sirius releases him. 

Remus busies himself preparing the cocoa, trying not to think about Sirius' body pressed against his, or about his damn dimple and dazzling smile. He pours the hot milk over the slabs of chocolate, stirring in a teaspoon each of cocoa powder. He tops each mug with marshmallows and leads Sirius over to the couch. 

"Here you are," he says. "The best cocoa you've ever had." 

Sirius pokes at a marshmallow, drowning it in cocoa. He blows gently then takes a sip, eyes widening. 

"This is amazing," he breathes, slurping loudly to pop a marshmallow into his mouth. 

Remus laughs and sips his own. "I told you. Honeyduke's 75% and full fat milk. Never fails." 

One cup of cocoa turns into two, turns into three cups of tea each and a pack of ginger biscuits. Remus has no idea what time it is and he doesn't care. Sirius is curled up on the couch, feet tucked underneath him and tartan fleece draped over his lap. He's talking about Christmas at the Potter's, who Remus has learned virtually adopted him after he ran away from his own family. His eyes are bright and his cheeks flushed. Remus could watch him speak all night. 

"You know?" Sirius is saying, and Remus realises he hasn't been listening for a full five minutes. 

"Yes," he hazards and Sirius laughs. 

"You haven't been listening at all."

"I have!" Remus protests. "I was just…" _Staring at your face._ “Sorry.”

“You need to stop apologising for things - ” Remus swallows the _sorry_ that had been about to escape. “ - Especially when things you’re apologising for are just part of existing.”

Sirius’ words hit harder than he probably intends. Remus has spent most of his life feeling like he has to apologise for his existence. It had taken him a very long time to come to terms with the fact that his parents’ forcing him into isolation for his entire childhood was maybe not the most healthy of choices. He’d grown up believing he had to hide, had to lie, could never let anyone know who he was. After moving out, he had worked hard to try to forge friendships despite being so awkward and ill-equipped. No relationship had ever lasted more than a few months. Even those who didn’t care about his lycanthropy eventually grew tired of his constant neuroses and left.

“Remus?” Sirius says hesitantly. “I didn’t mean -”

“You’re right,” Remus says, setting down his empty teacup. “Over apologising is just one of my many faults. And trust me, you’re much better off not getting to know the rest of them.”

He stands up, hip stiff and angry from hours in the same position, Sirius follows suit, grabbing Remus’ arm.

“I think I can make that decision for myself,” he says, eyes blazing.

“I’m not sure you can.” Remus’ voice wavers slightly and he hates himself for it.

Sirius steps closer. “If you don’t want to be with me, fine. That’s your decision. But don’t decide for me.”

“Why would you want to be with me?” Remus’ voice is barely a whisper. Sirius lifts his chin gently, forcing Remus to look up at him.

“You’re different. You’re interesting. You don’t care who I am. And from the moment I saw you I wanted nothing more than to jump your bones.” Sirius’ eyes flit briefly down to Remus’ mouth. “Do you want more reasons? I have more reasons.”

“That’s okay,” Remus breathes, and kisses him.

Sirius’ hands close around his waist, pulling him in closer. Remus leans in, tongue brushing Sirius’ lower lip. Sirius hums against his mouth and deepens the kiss. A thrill runs down Remus’ spine. This incredibly handsome man is kissing him, _wants_ to kiss him, wants to do more than that...a small moan escapes him. He brings one hand up behind Sirius’ head, fingers sliding through silky black hair. 

Sirius pulls away, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. “Remus,” he whispers, and Remus immediately presses against him in another searing kiss.

"It's late," Sirius murmurs. 

"Mmm…" is all Remus can really manage. 

Sirius smiles apologetically as he pulls away again. "I should probably go," he says. 

A hot flash of disappointment runs through Remus. He tries his best to not let it show on his face. 

"Okay," he says evenly. "You're leaving Hogsmeade tomorrow? Or today, I suppose." 

"Yeah." Sirius' thumb is stroking Remus' cheek. "I have training in London at noon." 

"Okay," Remus says again, dropping his arms from Sirius' shoulders.

"I should be able to come up again soon," Sirius says earnestly. "And if not I can make up some emergency godfather business at Hogwarts. I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind." 

Remus laughs. "I wonder what kind of emergency would bypass the father to go directly to the godfather." 

Sirius shrugs. "Something sex related, probably." 

"I could come up with some sex related emergencies myself," Remus says, and Sirius smirks. 

"I promise to address all such emergencies with utmost devotion," he says, leaning down to kiss Remus again. "But I really do have to go." 

He gathers his coat and laces up his boots. Remus walks him downstairs, pulling him in for one last kiss before he opens the door. 

"I'll owl you," Sirius promises. "I'll see you soon." 

And then he's gone, swinging a leg over his motorbike and revving off down the street. Something in Remus' chest aches at the sight. Rubbing his eyes, Remus closes the door and heads up to bed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Remus wakes suddenly, ripped away from his dream by the screaming of his alarm clock. He shuts it off, groaning. Two nights in a row of little sleep is weighing down his eyelids like lead. He sighs and hauls himself out to bed to get ready for the day.

As he trudges down the stairs into the shop, he notices a couple of people waiting outside, peering through the windows. Odd, he thinks, it's not a release day. He goes to the door to pick up his bundle of _Daily Prophets_.

One of the people, a young woman with bright blonde hair and dark red lipstick, shouts at him.

"Are you Remus Lupin?"

Remus frowns. "Can I help you?"

That's when he notices that the other person is holding a camera and is pointing it in Remus' face.

"How was your date last night with Sirius Black?" the woman asks, and the camera shutter clicks rapidly.

Blood rushing from his face, Remus straightens up and glares at the woman. "You don't have my permission to publish my photo."

He hears her snort with derision as he shuts the door in their faces and casts a quick darkening charm on the windows. Heart pounding, he looks down at the Daily Prophet. A small blurb on the top of the page captions a smiling photo of Sirius: Black's new fling? Everything you need to know about the star's latest man on page 3!

A loud rustling from the back room alerts him to the arrivals of the post owls, and he hurries over, anxiety pulsing through his body. The pile of mail is disproportionately large, considering it's supposed to be just a normal Monday.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he breathes, noticing his mother's handwriting on the topmost letter. The majority of letters are from people he's never heard of, and he has a sinking feeling it might be hate mail from adoring fans. One bright green envelope appears to be addressed to "Worthless Slut".

Shaking, Remus sinks down onto a nearby chair and unfolds the Prophet, opening to page three.

It's worse than he'd imagined. There are four large photographs, the biggest of which show Sirius and Remus kissing passionately against the door of his shop. Another has them embracing in the street, having just Apparated back from dinner.

"Fuck," he says, with feeling.

**_BLACK'S NEW BEAU?_ **   
_Last night, Sirius Black, Beater for Puddlemere United, England National, and Britain's Most Eligible Wizard 1995, was seen on a steamy all nighter in Hogsmeade (reports Rita Skeeter, daily correspondence). Black, 34, was spotted entering the Wolf’s Tale book shop with shop owner, Remus Lupin, 34, late last night, only reappearing in the early hours of morning._

_It seems to be the end of a recent dry spell for Black, who ended his last relationship with Ballycastle Bats Captain Kieran Donnolly nearly four months ago. Sources claim Black was in Hogsmeade scouting real estate. Could this be the start of England’s favorite bachelor finally settling down?_

_Little is known about Welsh native Lupin. Reporters have reached out to find out more._

The article goes on and on, detailing Sirius’ various relationships and exactly how long each one lasted, with speculation on how long his relationship with Sirius would last. He lets the paper slide from his fingers as the racing of his heart fills his head and turns the edges of his vision white.

They are going to find out what he is. It’s only a matter of time. Not only will Sirius find out, but the entire Wizarding world would know. Remus drops his head into his hands, attempting to take in deep, calming breaths and failing miserably. His heart is pounding out of his body, every one of his veins straining and throbbing. He can’t handle this. Even his parents know, they must be so ashamed. The thought of his mother’s letter just a foot away makes his stomach lurch.

A small owl zooms in through the open window, drops a letter on his head, and flies back out.

Remus picks up the letter and rips it open with shaking hands.

_I am so fucking sorry. James is on his way. Talk in the evening._   
_S_

Remus blinks at the small piece of parchment. Why would James be on his way? What could he possibly do? Obliviate the reporters? Arrest Rita Skeeter?

A sharp knock on the door brings him crashing back down to reality. He was supposed to open fifteen minutes ago, and he hasn’t even counted out today’s change. He’s been too busy feeling sorry for himself.

“Get a grip,” he says sternly, shaking out his arms and legs briefly before going out to the main room. He undoes the darkening charm on the windows and sees James Potter standing in front of the shop, speaking with the reporters. At least it’s still just the one woman and photographer, Remus thinks with some small relief.

He unlocks the door, and James turns to smile widely at him.

“Hi there,” James says, stepping into the shop. “Long time.”

“Yeah, hi,” Remus says, watching the reporter warily. She’s stayed put, sour expression pinching her face.

“Don’t worry about them,” says James, “I put a ward on the shop. Only people with an intent to buy, or at least browse can enter.”

Remus lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” James smiles widely, clapping him on the shoulder. “Sorry to be meeting under such circumstances.”

“Yeah, what the fuck is happening?” Remus blurts out.

James laughs. “Sirius Black is happening. Unfortunate that it happened so early on. My guess is they were tailing him ever since the end of the match.”

Remus sits down heavily on his chair behind the counter. “And you’re here to do what? Make sure I don’t run away?”

James’ eyes gleam behind his glasses. “Nothing quite so dramatic. You really are a good match.”

Remus’ face burns. He pours out his change into the till, not bothering to count. “So what, then?” he mutters, aware he sounds petulant and not caring.

“Mostly here to keep away reporters,” James says, smiling.

"Well, thanks." Remus' stomach is churning. All he can see is his face plastered across the front page of the Prophet: **WEREWOLF EXPOSED**. "But, I mean, this won't really keep them off for long."

"No." James' eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Remus…if you can't do this, that's fine. I know it's a lot. Sirius knows."

Remus lowers his gaze, heart pounding. He thinks of Sirius last night. Thinks of the hours spent just talking. Sirius is almost completely the opposite of what Remus had expected. He's thoughtful, kind. Doesn't seem to want to use Remus for just a quick shag.

Remus shakes his head, slowly.

"I do. I just… I…" he falters, and James looks at him hard for a long moment. "I have a complicated…past," he manages.

"Listen, Remus, it's none of my business," says James, and he jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the reporter peering through the window. "And none of _theirs_ either. But if there's anything you're concerned they might…dig up, it's better if you tell Sirius yourself. Speaking from experience."

Remus avoids looking at him. "Yeah," he breathes.

James digs in his pocket for a moment, before producing a small compact mirror. "You should have this," he says, holding it out to Remus.

Remus hesitates. He can feel the silver emanating from the mirror, cold and cruel.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Two-way mirror," James explains. "Sirius has the other one. Just say his name and he'll show up on the other end." He sets it down on the counter when Remus doesn't reach for it. "I figure it'd be more useful to you than me in the next couple of weeks."

Remus eyes the mirror warily, a wave of anxiety pulsing through his fingers. "Thanks," he says, wondering how he's going to pick it up when the door opens.

"Fuck off!" Sonya is saying vehemently to the photographer. She shuts the door behind her and looks to Remus incredulously. "What the _fuck_?"

Remus drops his head onto the counter and groans loudly. Sonya has picked up the _Daily Prophet_ and immediately found the offending article.

"Merlin's pants," she laughs. "I was going to ask you how it went last night but I guess I've got all the gos’ right here."

"Don't," Remus moans, peering at her through his fingers.

Sonya holds out her hand to James, who is looking thoroughly amused. "Sonya from next door. You must be Harry's dad."

"That's me. James Potter." he shakes her band briefly then turns back to Remus. "I've got to be heading back to the office," he says apologetically. "You let me know if they give you any trouble. The wards should hold for at least a week."

He pushes the mirror closer to Remus. "Talk to him tonight. He finishes training around seven."

"Thanks," Remus says again, hoping it's not obvious when he pulls his sleeve over his hand to drop the mirror in a drawer under the counter.

James nods to Sonya, strides out of the shop, and Apparates away. Sonya looks back at Remus expectantly. Remus shrugs listlessly and gestures to the paper.

"Sod that," Sonya says. "Do you like him? Are you going to go out again?"

"I - I think so," Remus says in a small voice, picking at his sleeve.

Sonya beams, leaning across the counter to grasp Remus' hands.

"That's great!" she exclaims. "Really, you deserve someone good."

Remus smiles weakly. A soft hoot from the back room signals yet more post, and it's quickly followed by a large rustling _thump_. Remus can only assume his ever growing mountain of letters has toppled from the table.

When Remus answers her quizzical look with another defeated shrug, she wanders into the back room.

"Merlin's pants!" he can hear her swear yet again, and he smiles despite himself. She comes back out after a couple of minutes, clutching a few letters. One of them, Remus notices, is his mother's. A fresh dose of dread fills his body as Sonya hands it to him.

"You should at least read hers," she says, placating. "I'm interested in what Joseph Featherworth has got to say to 'Worthless Slut'."

Remus huffs slightly in amusement, then steels himself and rips open his mother's letter with numb fingers.

_Remus,_   
_I just wanted to tell you to pay your father no mind. You know how he gets when he's upset. I tried to post this myself and throw his bit out but he caught on._   
_You know we love you and just want what's best for you. It was a bit of a shock is all. And I must confess I was sad to find out in such a way. You know you can tell me anything, my boy._   
_I love you,_   
_Mum_   
_P.S. He is very handsome! What a catch!_

“Fuck,” Remus whispers, face heating up. He pulls out the second piece of parchment from the envelope, knowing whatever his father has to say will not be nearly as forgiving as his mother.

_Remus,_   
_I cannot begin to fathom what possessed you to do what you have done. I implore you to think with your head, as I have tried to teach you, rather than act like a hormonal teenager. I realise you are far too old for my words to carry any real weight, but I must remind you that you have put yourself, your career, your livelihood, as well as mine, in danger with your actions. This sports hero will certainly not allow you to tarnish his reputation, meanwhile you shall be destroyed from what will follow. You cannot let this happen._   
_Your father,_   
_LL_

A lump in Remus’ throat threatens to choke him. Tears blur his vision, dropping heavily onto the parchment when he blinks.

“Oh, love,” Sonya’s voice is soft. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and he sinks against her, shaking. “Did they not know? That you’re gay?”

Remus says nothing, breath hitching in a tight sob. He can feel his father's words washing over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in childhood traumas he's tried so hard to forget. The isolation, the fear and paranoia. He remembers being shut up for a week preceding the full moon, locked in the cellar lined with silver. You don’t know what wolf characteristics could come out as the moon waxes, his father would say. You don’t know who could find out. He’d felt ashamed, dirty, wrong.

And he remembers leaving, the day after his 17th birthday. He remembers his first moon spent in a forest, isolated but not alone, feeling the magic of the forest aiding his transition, coaxing him along gently. He remembers running, chasing, sniffing every new thing. Waking up the next morning with no bites or scratches, at least not self-inflicted. _This is what it’s supposed to feel like_ , he’d thought, laughing ecstatically on the forest floor and not caring, for once in his life, if anyone could see him.

He has to tell Sirius. Tonight. This thing, whatever it is, is moving fast. He owes it to Sirius the ability to decide for himself if he wants the headache of dealing with a werewolf boyfriend or not.

Remus clears his throat and untangles himself from Sonya.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, wiping his eyes and feeling foolish.

“Don’t be,” she says immediately. “This is a lot to deal with after just one date.”

Remus nods. “It really fucking is.”

\---

Remus’ shop is more packed that day than it has any right to be on a Monday. Everyone in Hogsmeade seems to stop by, “just to browse”. A few ask him outright about Sirius, wondering if it’s true, and how long they’ve been dating. A couple of bolder -- and angry looking -- young women go so far as to ask him how the hell he managed to land Sirius Black.

And he really doesn’t know.

Thankfully, James’ wards seem to work well and he is spared any unwanted photographers or reporters harassing him. They seem to be working in shifts, replacing one another every few hours, hoping he might step outside. Joke’s on them, Remus thinks. I fucking live here.

By closing time, Remus' nerves and lack of sleep have joined forces to form a throbbing migraine. He thinks longingly of his pain potions upstairs in his flat as he rings up the last customer. He walks the kind old lady to the door, bidding her a good evening and locking the door behind her. He glares triumphantly at the ginger reporter who lies in wait as he once more casts a darkening charm on the windows, blocking all visibility.

Remus nearly collapses with relief the second he’s out of sight. He realises he’s shaking and takes a couple of deep breaths before turning to the shop to finish up closing.

Once all the scattered books have been put back in their places and the cash from the till locked away, Remus opens the drawer under the counter and stares for a moment at the small silver mirror lying there. It's suitably ornate to have come from a wealthy Pureblood family like the Potters, covered in thin filigree leaves and flowers. Remus heaves a deep sigh that he feels all the way to his toes. He wraps his hand in his sleeve again and picks up the mirror.

Upstairs, he curls on the sofa with a cup of strong tea and some chocolate biscuits. He's put on thick, leather gloves to handle the mirror. He pops it open, his own tired eyes reflected back at him.

"Sirius," he whispers, feeling ridiculous. Nothing happens. He sips at his tea, annoyed at himself, at the bags under his eyes, and this whole stupid situation.

"Sirius Black," he says assertively.

His face vanishes from the mirror with a small pop. He can hear rustling, and a beige blur moves quickly across the view in the mirror. There's more movement, and the muffled noise of conversation, before the view settles on a sweaty Sirius, who seems to be quite naked. At least from the chest up, which is what Remus can see. Remus feels his face heat up immediately and he tries his hardest not to stare at Sirius' broad, muscular shoulders.

"Remus!" Sirius' eyes widen slightly in surprise but he recovers quickly. "I was going to firecall you."

"Sorry," Remus says automatically. "You can call later, I'm not -"

"It's fine," Sirius assures him. His eyes flicker somewhere past the mirror and he shouts "Fuck off, Nott!". Remus' view is obscured for a tense minute, during which he can hear laughter, shouting, and crude noises accompanied by the words lover boy.

When Sirius reappears his face is red and his hair a tousled mess.

"Sorry about that," he says slightly breathlessly. "Bunch of wankers. Are you okay?"

Remus swallows, finger absently tracing the rim of his teacup. "I'm okay," he says. "I just wanted to talk to you about - well -"

"I'm so sorry," Sirius interrupts, face close to the mirror and voice low. "I never meant you to get caught up in all this shit, it usually takes a while before -"

"Yeah, James said," Remus says quickly, knowing the longer he lets Sirius talk the more he'll lose his nerve. "I just needed to talk to you, erm, I prefer in person."

"Oh." Sirius seems to deflate, frowning. "Oh, it's ok. I get it."

Alarmed, Remus shakes his head. "No! No no, you don't. It's not that. I want to keep - it's just that - I do want to see you - erm, keep seeing you - I just."

Sirius quirks an eyebrow and Remus exhales loudly.

"Can we meet? Please?"

"What's your Floo? I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes later, Remus is sitting on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, staring at the fireplace. His heart is hammering against his ribcage so hard it almost hurts. He's had this conversation before, and it's rarely gone well. He remembers all the looks of disgust, fear, hatred. Some of them tried to cover it up with a fake smile, but most just got up and left with barely a goodbye.

The fire burns a bright green and Remus jumps to his feet. Sirius steps out of the flames, dusting ash from his faded blue t-shirt. He smiles at Remus and pulls him close, lips brushing Remus’ cheek. He smells like freshly laundered clothes and a slightly floral shampoo, and Remus breathes in deep and leans into the embrace.

“Hi,” Remus says quietly, chin resting on Sirius’ shoulder.

“Hey.” Sirius’ fingers are stroking Remus’ hair, and it’s so warm and comforting a gesture that for a brief moment Remus considers how silly he’s being, rushing into telling Sirius everything.

And yet.

With a sigh, Remus pulls back, looking up into Sirius’ grey eyes. Sirius’ hands slide down to grab Remus’ own.

“Would you like some tea?” Remus offers, for lack of a better way to start.

“I’m alright.”

“Okay, well...sit down, at least.”

Sirius obeys, sitting on the sofa and immediately reaching for Remus’ hands when he sits down next to him. Remus’ heart is in his throat, and Sirius’ earnest, open gaze is only making it worse.

“I, erm, okay,” he stutters, and takes a deep breath. “I just, I figure I owe you the truth.”

Sirius frowns slightly but says nothing, thumbs stroking the back of Remus’ hands.

“Just, well...with the press, and you being...you...I. Fucking hell.”

Sirius laughs softly. “It’s okay, Remus.”

Remus bites his lip. “It isn’t, not really.” He takes his deepest breath yet, and lets it out on an exhale. “I’m a werewolf.”

Sirius’ eyes widen, but he doesn’t drop Remus’ hands, doesn’t lean back, doesn’t move at all.

“Wow,” he says after a moment.

“Wow?”

“Well, it’s not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno,” Sirius shrugs. “That you have dragon pox, maybe.”

“I should hope I’d be at St Mungo’s if I had dragon pox,” Remus says, smiling faintly.

“Probably. Wow,” Sirius says again, and a smile breaks out on his face.

Remus isn’t quite sure how to deal with this sort of reaction. “Why are you...you aren’t afraid?”

“Why should I be?” Sirius says pragmatically. “It’s not contagious outside the full moon.”

“No,” Remus says quietly.

“Where do you go on full moons?” Sirius asks, frowning again. “Only I assume you’re not registered, otherwise you probably wouldn’t be so nervous about the press finding out.”

Remus sucks in a sharp breath, biting his lip. “No, I’m not. I Apparate to a forest not far from here.”

“The Forbidden Forest?”

“No, no,” Remus hastens. “Nowhere near so many people.”

“Oh, right.”

Sirius falls silent, gazing down at Remus’ hands. He reaches out slowly and pushes up the sleeve of Remus’ jumper, fingers tracing an old scar up his arm. Remus shivers, head bowed, unable to look at Sirius’ face.

“Did you do this?” Sirius asks softly.

“The Wolf,” Remus explains, voice barely above a whisper. “When I was young - well, until I left home, really - I was kept in a cellar during the moons. The Wolf didn’t like that much.”

Sirius lets out a small gasp and suddenly he’s close and his arms are wrapping around Remus in a tight hug. Remus’ heart is leaping out of his chest, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says and Remus has no idea what he’s apologising for but a swell of emotion rises in his throat and he’s clutching at Sirius, hands buried in the soft fabric of his shirt.

They stay like that for a long time, holding each other, Sirius rubbing soothing circles on Remus’ back. When Remus finally pulls away, his face wet, Sirius leans down to kiss him soundly.

“It’s better now?” Sirius says, forehead pressed against Remus’. “In the forest? You don’t get hurt?”

“Not as much,” Remus says truthfully. “At least not from myself.”

Sirius kisses him again, long and deep, and Remus practically melts against him.

“Good,” Sirius whispers.

“I…” Remus hesitates. “You really don’t care?”

“I really don’t,” Sirius assures him. “If you want, I can tell James to keep an eye and ear out for anyone from the press getting too nosy into your business.”

“Really?”

“He said he was going to put a couple of trackers on Rita Skeeter’s trail anyway,” Sirius grins.

Remus smiles widely, feeling a sense of relief wash over him, soothing away the last vestiges of anxiety.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, thumb tracing Sirius’ sharp jawline. “So much.”

Sirius kisses his palm. “Now can we just go on dates like normal people?”

Remus laughs. “I really don’t think we can.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert! Explicit sex scene approaching. Enjoy ;)

It is just after midnight, but Remus can’t sleep. He can feel the moon humming through his veins. Jittery with unspent energy, he gets out of bed and pads into the kitchen to brew a pot of herbal tea. Sometimes the chamomile and peppermint help soothe the ache. But sometimes, the moon is too much and he needs to run and scream and howl and  _ hunt _ .

He settles on the sofa, fingers wrapped around the too-hot cup of tea, barely feeling the burn. His eyes land on the mirror, lying in the middle of the table, and he wonders if Sirius is awake.

They’ve been dating for almost exactly a month, and Remus is already teetering dangerously close to falling head over heels. They’ve only been able to meet in person a handful of times, due to Sirius’ intense training regime, but they talk with the mirrors at every given opportunity as well as send daily, sometimes hourly, owls. Remus can’t remember the last time, if ever, he’s connected so quickly with someone. Sometimes, as they’re talking late at night, Remus will gaze at Sirius’ sleepy smile in the mirror and wonder where they would be now if they’d met a long time ago.

Everyone in Remus’ immediate friend circle is absolutely thrilled with the developing relationship. Harry seems especially smug, mentioning multiple times how Remus now “owes him one” as he takes credit for introducing them. He assured Remus that when Sirius isn’t talking about Quidditch, he’s waxing lyrical about Remus, which of course made Remus glow fuschia with embarrassment.

The press has mostly left him alone. He thinks they are slowly beginning to realise that he is about as boring as one can expect from a middle aged bookshop owner. James has been doing his part to keep Rita Skeeter silent as well. Remus hasn’t spoken with his father since the letter, but his mother has written frequently, and informs him that after an initial week of constantly being barraged by reporters, they’ve mysteriously vanished and left his parents alone.

Remus finishes his last sip of tea and reaches for the mirror. No gloves required, anymore. The very night Remus had confessed his lycanthropy to Sirius, Sirius had noticed the gloves lying by the mirror, put two and two together, and promptly transfigured the mirror to tin.

“Sirius Black,” he whispers, and the mirror lights up almost immediately. Sirius is lying on his side, grey eyes bright as they stare at Remus through the mirror.

“Were you lying in wait?” Remus jokes, setting down his teacup.

“Yes,” Sirius says. “What took you so long?”

“Fancied a cuppa.”

“Did it help?”

“No.”

And it hasn’t. The moon is an ache in his chest, tugging at his veins, throbbing stronger now he’s looking at Sirius and the way the light from the window highlights his cheekbones. Sirius props himself up on his elbows and Remus notices he’s shirtless. His mouth is suddenly very dry.

“Why are you still awake?” he manages.

“Why are you?” Sirius counters.

“Night before the full moon. Least I’ve got an excuse.”

Sirius tilts his head, gazing intently at Remus. “So you just don’t sleep for a few days every month?”

“Usually.”

“Hmm, I wonder how we can put that to use.” Sirius’ tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Remus leans closer involuntarily.

“Don’t you have training at some ungodly hour?”

“Maybe.”

“You should probably sleep, then.”

“Probably.”

Remus stares for a moment, then the moon rushes through him and he’s nearly growling.

“Come over.”

Sirius grins and shuts his mirror. Remus sets his on the table, then stands and paces impatiently in front of the fireplace, unable to stand still and unable to think about anything other than how bloody long it’s taking Sirius to Floo over.

The fireplace flashes green and Sirius is stepping out, infuriatingly completely clothed.

“Why did you change clothes?” Remus demands.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius smirks, “Was this not an invitation to a midnight tea party?”

Remus grabs Sirius’ shirt and pulls him hard. Sirius stumbles slightly, eyes widening. 

“Lesson number one,” Remus says hoarsely, hands gripping Sirius’ waist. “Don’t fuck with a werewolf the night before the full moon.”

Sirius runs a hand up Remus’ back, below his nightshirt. “Shame,” he murmurs. “I’d planned on doing just that.”

This time Remus does growl, low and guttural from the pit of his stomach. He leans up and kisses Sirius fiercely, nipping at his lower lip. Sirius moans, and his hands on Remus’ back pull him closer. Remus is already hard, almost painfully so, but he can’t bring himself to care. The moon is singing in him, guiding him to grab Sirius’ hand and drag him to the bed.

Sirius falls onto his back, pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for Remus. Remus kneels over him, grabbing his hands and pinning them over his head. Sirius grins, body arcing up to meet Remus'. Remus slides one hand down Sirius’ torso, revelling at the feel of his smooth skin and tight muscles. He really has no business being with someone like Remus, all knotted scars and imperfections. Remus hesitates, fingers clenching on Sirius’ waist.

“Hey,” Sirius says softly, nose nudging Remus’ cheek.

“Sorry,” Remus says automatically. He sits up, hands on Sirius’ perfect, flawless abs. Remus can feel a surge of panic rise in his stomach.

Sirius sits up as well, until Remus is sitting in his lap and their foreheads meet.

“Don’t,” Sirius says, gazing into Remus’ eyes.

“Okay,” Remus whispers. Sirius feathers light kisses on Remus’ lips and jaw, hands coming up to hug him tightly. Remus closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of Sirius’ mouth on his neck, of his fingers rubbing the knot between his shoulders. Sirius pulls them down again, slowly rolling so Remus is on his back.

Sirius kisses him deeply, and Remus’ insecurities are melting into a puddle of incoherence. He once again feels the tug in his bones, the urge to pin Sirius down until he begs. Sirius hisses and Remus realises he’s bitten him, hard, on the lip.

“Don’t say it,” Sirius warns, cutting off Remus’ instinctive  _ sorry _ . He leans closer to Remus, licking the small bead of blood from his lip. “I liked it.”

That’s all the Wolf needs to hear. Remus pulls Sirius down in a searing kiss, grabbing him by the waist and thrusting up against him. Sirius groans, hands fisting in Remus’ shirt. Remus grabs a handful of Sirius' hair, pulling back his head to expose his white throat. He bites gently at first, then harder when Sirius lets out a slow whine and jerk of his hips. 

" _ Remus _ ," Sirius breathes in his ear, hand tangled in his hair. A surge runs through Remus like electricity and he grabs Sirius’ wrists, hooks his leg around his waist and pins him to the bed. He licks his way down Sirius’ neck, past the jut of his collarbone, sliding over the hard peak of his nipple. 

When he reaches the waistband of Sirius’ pajama bottoms, chin nudging the damp hardness underneath, he glances up. Sirius is gazing down at him, eyes dark with desire, biting his lip. Remus reaches underneath the layers of fabric to close his hand around Sirius, who moans and throws his head back against the pillows.

Remus releases him from his pajamas, flicking out his tongue to taste the saltiness leaking from the tip. After a couple more swipes, he closes his mouth around Sirius’ cock, swallowing him almost completely. Sirius twitches beneath him, expelling more precum to the back of Remus’ throat. Remus hums as he bobs faster and faster, swirling his tongue around the sensitive head.

_ “Fuck, _ ” Sirius hisses, pushing so hard into Remus’ mouth that he nearly chokes. Remus slides off him with a small pop, strings of saliva running from his lips to the head of Sirius’ cock as he gasps slightly for breath.

“Fuck,” Sirius says again as his cock falls against his belly, hot and heavy and sticky. “I want you.”

Remus licks the hollow of his hip bone, stroking him slowly.

“What do you want?” he whispers, and Sirius shivers.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Remus sits up, desire thrumming hard through his body. He could come right now, watching Sirius writhe against the sheets, cheeks flushed, cock dripping. His irises are the faintest sliver around his blown out pupils, and he’s biting his lip again.

Remus finally peels off his own shirt, damp with sweat. Sirius’ expression doesn’t change, he just reaches up to start pulling off Remus’ pants. Remus grins and helps undress them both completely. He lies down on top of Sirius, settling between his spread legs. He kisses Sirius deeply for a long moment, relishing the feel of their naked bodies flush together. Sirius is grabbing his ass and emitting a small moan that Remus suspects he will never tire of hearing.

He reaches out his right hand and focuses briefly,  _ Accio Lube _ , and a small bottle zooms into his hand. Never breaking their kiss, Remus pops open the bottle and slicks up his fingers, stroking Sirius’ hole. Sirius’ moan grows louder and more insistent as Remus slides in his middle finger.

“Remus,” Sirius pants. “I need you.”

Remus rubs his prostate and Sirius’ hips buck up against him.

“ _ Remus _ ,” Sirius practically begs, fingernails digging into his ass.

Remus removes his finger, strokes himself briefly with lube, and pushes in. 

Sirius cries out, brows furrowed, black hair spilling across the pillow. He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, all porcelain skin and sharp cheekbones. Remus rolls his hips slowly, leaning down to kiss his parted lips, swallowing the noise that tries to escape. 

“ _ Ye - es,” _ Sirius breathes between deep thrusts as Remus quickens his pace.

Remus knows he won’t last long. How could he, with this beautiful creature crying his name beneath him, clutching at his back to pull him closer, deeper. A wave of desire so deep it almost aches rushes through him and he can’t stop himself from dipping his head down to bite Sirius’ neck. Sirius hisses, but holds Remus’ head in place when he tries to break away. Remus tastes the metallic tang of blood on his lips, feels Sirius’ pulse hammering through his throat, hears his ragged breathing hot against his cheek.

He’s panting now, erratic, and then Sirius is moaning, cock twitching between them, warm release spreading across their bellies. He contracts around Remus and Remus thrusts once, twice, then comes so hard he’s almost blacking out with the force of it. 

He sags against Sirius, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. Sirius’ fingers rake through Remus’ curls, coming to rest on the nape of his neck. Remus feels warm and heavy and full of a sort of mindless bliss he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He hums contentedly then slowly pulls out, kissing Sirius gently when he notices the slight wince. Remus rolls onto his side, arm draped over Sirius’ chest.

“Fuck,” Sirius sighs, turning to smile at Remus. Remus smiles back and plants a lazy kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sirius reaches up to trail his hand along Remus’ cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, eyes blazing with a sincere intensity that makes Remus’ stomach jolt.

Remus kisses him again, long and gentle, pouring into the kiss all the things he’s unable to say in words. When they break apart he feels his eyes stinging with unshed tears and he turns away, busying himself with finding his wand and cleaning them both up.

“Thanks,” Sirius says, stretching his arms overhead and twisting his back with a series of cracks and pops.

“Do you have to go?” Remus asks, trying and failing to keep the desperation from his voice.

“I can stay,” Sirius says, grinning. “But we have to actually sleep. And I have to Floo to training by six thirty.”

Remus responds with a smile and a kiss, and gets up to go brush his teeth. He transfigures an old comb into a toothbrush for Sirius who comes loping in after him. It doesn't surprise him to learn that Sirius is a vigorous brusher, spending a whole minute longer on his teeth than Remus before flossing. That smile must be worth thousands of Galleons. 

The sight of them in the mirror, naked, going through their nightly routines, sends a thrill of happiness through Remus. It's the kind of domestic picture he rarely gets to see, and so often yearns for. Even watching Sirius bend over the sink, spitting out globs of toothpaste makes him smile. Sirius catches his eye in the mirror and quirks an eyebrow. Remus shrugs, then quickly pinches his bum before retreating back into the bedroom. 

"Oi!" Sirius yelps, and Remus laughs as he slides underneath the heavy duvet.

Sirius joins him a couple minutes later, face pink from being washed, hair tied back in a loose knot.

“You’ll pay for that,” he mumbles, climbing into bed and pulling Remus close.

“I hope so.” Remus kisses him and settles his head on Sirius’ shoulder.

They’re silent for a few minutes, and Remus is sure Sirius has fallen asleep when he speaks.

“When’d you learn nonverbal magic?” he asks, rubbing circles on Remus’ shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t have your wand on you, either.”

“What? When?” Remus raises himself onto his elbow, looking down at Sirius in confusion.

“You  _ Accio _ ed the lube,” Sirius says, grey eyes gleaming silver in the moonlight. “Didn’t you?”

“Oh.” Remus flushes slightly. “Yeah. Around full moons I can...my magic - everything - is stronger.”

“Wow,” Sirius breathes. “I’m rubbish at it. We had lessons in sixth year and I never really got it. I guess I like talking too much. It’s probably also why -”

Remus laughs, leaning down to kiss him mid sentence. He notices a dark bruise on Sirius’ neck. The bruise  _ he _ left there. He lowers his mouth to it, murmuring a healing spell against the skin. Sirius shivers as the bruise disappears.

“What was that?” His eyes are wide and bright. Remus smiles and kisses the newly healed skin.

“Healing spell. I bit you.”

“Definitely remember that,” Sirius purrs, wrapping his arms tightly around Remus. Remus relaxes into the embrace and he can feel Sirius is already hard again. Sirius kisses his forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips. Remus hums against his mouth, reaching between them to grab Sirius’ erection.

“I thought you said we have to sleep,” Remus says, smiling as Sirius licks his way down his neck.

“Did I? Doesn’t sound like me.”

Sirius’ head is beneath the duvet, working steadily, leaving no territory unmarked. Remus gasps when his tongue flicks over the newest scar across his chest. Sirius pops his head out, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up from static.

“Okay?” he asks.

Remus smiles and nods. Sirius grins and buries his head once again beneath the covers.

\---

They don’t get any sleep that night. Their long wandering conversations inevitably lead to increasingly lazy sex, and by the time Remus forces them out of bed at five thirty to make breakfast, his hip is throbbing.

“I’m going to be crap today,” Sirius says, rubbing his eyes. “How’m I supposed to sit on a broom all day after that?”

“My deepest sympathies,” Remus smirks, summoning his cane to haul himself to his feet. “Least you’re not reduced to using a cane like a proper old man.”

“Sorry.”

Remus shakes his head. “Only teasing. It’s the moon, not you. Well, maybe a little, that last time…”

Sirius snorts and gets to his feet as well, reaching for his clothes scattered across the floor. “Then I regret nothing!” he declares, head popping from his shirt, hair impossibly messy. He wanders into the bathroom and Remus heads for the kitchen.

“So what’ve you got on today?” Sirius asks as they dig into the fry up Remus has put together.

“The new  _ Crossed Wands _ is supposed to arrive today, so lots of middle aged women to deal with.” Remus takes a swig of tea and piles sausages onto his fork. “Sometime in the evening I’ll probably transform into a bloodthirsty monster for a few hours.”

Sirius chokes on his egg. He coughs and reaches for his tea to help clear his throat. Remus grins, enjoying seeing the usually suave athlete flustered.

“Is there anything I can do?” Sirius manages after a moment. “To - “

“To cure lycanthropy?” Remus cuts him off. “Don’t think so.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I assure you I don’t,” Remus says curtly. “What could you possibly do to help?”

Sirius shrugs, looking sulky. “I could come and - “

“Come spend the night with a fully grown werewolf? Great idea.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Remus.”

“Sirius.”

They glare at each other for a long moment. Remus can feel a faint tingling of anxiety buzz in his fingers. Sirius breaks the stare to look down at his plate, poking listlessly at a mushroom.

“I just…” he starts, then stops, sighing. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone. Getting hurt.”

A lump rises in Remus’ throat and he reaches across the table to grab Sirius’ hand. 

“I’ll be fine,” he assures Sirius. “I always am.”

Sirius looks up at him, biting his lip, eyes bright. “You don’t know what’s in the forest.”

“No.”

“There could be other werewolves.”

“There are,” Remus admits. Sirius sucks in a sharp breath.

“No, it’s…” Remus hesitates, unsure of how to continue. He’s never really had to talk about this before. His parents only ever asked in the broadest terms, and previous partners...well.

“It’s better, with them,” he says finally, stroking Sirius’ hand. “I’m not alone.”

“Do you know them?” Sirius asks.

“As humans? No. I don’t need to. Don’t want to.”

Sirius nods, eyes on their clasped hands. “As long as you’re safe,” he says quietly.

“I am,” Remus says. “As safe as I can be, considering.”

“Okay.” Sirius raises their hands and kisses Remus’ knuckles. “Let me come tomorrow?”

“I…”

“I’ll come tomorrow.” Sirius stands up decisively, pulling Remus up with him. Remus wobbles slightly without his cane, and Sirius catches him by the small of the back. “I’ll come tomorrow,” Sirius repeats, kissing Remus’ nose. “I have to go now, though.”

“Okay,” Remus whispers into Sirius’ shoulder, holding him close for just another moment. Sirius squeezes him tight, brushing a kiss against his forehead. He pulls back to gaze at Remus, grey eyes soft as he smiles.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises one last time.

And then he’s gone, in a flash of emerald flames, and Remus stares after him, suddenly feeling very tired.


	4. Chapter 4

He feels the pain before anything else. A deep, throbbing blackness that radiates from his right hip. A white hot flare in his shoulder, pulsing with every beat of his heart. The blood in his mouth is still wet; he thinks it must be his. He knows that with this level of pain, he must act quickly before he blacks out again. He forces himself to focus on the ground beneath him, numb fingers scrabbling in the frozen earth.

Deep breath in. 

_ Accio Wand _ . 

Deep breath out.

He barely waits for his wand to arrive before he focuses on the  _ turn _ and he’s unconscious on his bathroom floor.

When he comes to a minute later he can hear someone kneel beside him, can feel firm fingers touch his forehead, hears a soft “ _ Remus _ ”. Sirius. What the fucking hell is he doing here?

Remus opens his eyes slowly, hyper-sensitive to the glare of the lights. He always leaves the lights off. Sirius’ face hovers into view, eyes wide, concern etched into the furrow of his brown and tightness of his lips. Remus needs him to move, to back off, so he can deal with the pain that threatens to knock him out again.

“Gerroff,” Remus manages, blood spilling from his mouth. Sirius’ eyes widen even more but he leans back, allowing Remus to reach for the pain potions with his good arm. He pops the cork between his teeth, nearly choking as the thick potion slides down his throat. He shuts his eyes again and lets the numbing effect of the potion spread through his body. 

“Remus…”

Remus ignores him. He raises a hand to tentatively touch the wound on his shoulder. It feels like multiple puncture wounds, probably a bite; he must have fought one of the other wolves. It makes him second guess whether the blood in his mouth is all completely his.

He hears Sirius shift next to him, feels the rise of magic as he readies to cast a healing spell.

“Dont,” Remus says sharply.

“I -”

“Have to clean it first.” Remus grits his teeth against a wave of pain that pushes past the numbness. He opens his eyes again, meeting Sirius’ gaze.

“Why are you here?”

“I said I was -”

“Why are you here  _ now? _ ” 

Sirius shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words. Remus takes a steadying breath, trying to quell the wave of panic and anger that’s trying to rise up like bile in his throat. He doesn’t have time for this right now. 

He grips his wand tightly, pointing it at his right leg. His hip has dislocated again, which is an easy enough fix but hurts like hell. He casts a stabilising spell on his leg, then with a sharp  _ push _ of magic funneled through his wand he sets his leg back in its socket with a sickening crunch. Remus cries out in pain, knowing that without the potion he would have blacked out again. Sirius makes a movement as if to grab him but stops himself, looking scared.

Hip dealt with, Remus attempts to get up and survey the damage to his shoulder. It’s difficult to climb to his feet with just one arm and a numb leg, even more so with Sirius staring at him from the side, frozen in place. He rises to his feet slowly and balks at his reflection.

Both eyes are blackened spectacularly, his lower lip split and still leaking blood. He has various minor scratches across his face and neck, and then there’s his shoulder. It’s definitely a bite wound, deep and jagged, as if whatever bit him tried to tear off his entire shoulder. It’s bleeding sluggishly, his entire left side already stained red. Remus knows that a magical bite wound won’t clot on its own, and he wonders how much blood he’s already lost.

A wave of dizziness overwhelms him. He clutches hard at the edges of the sink, feeling Sirius’ hand come to his back to steady him.

“Tell me what to do,” Sirius says firmly.

“Disinfectant,” Remus manages through gritted teeth. “Cabinet below. Purple bottle.”

Sirius brings him the bottle and a wad of cotton. He soaks the cotton and begins dabbing at the puncture wounds. It burns sharp and hot and Remus whimpers, screwing his eyes shut. The disinfectant is mixed with a clotting potion and after a minute Remus can feel the blood flow ebb and stop.

“Wand. My wand,” Remus whispers, trying to ignore the whiteness closing in on the edges of his vision.

Sirius hands him his wand and he immediately starts sealing the jagged edges of his skin together. It’s rough and the skin is an angry pink, but it’s the best he can manage while teetering on the edge of consciousness. He hears Sirius fuss with the shower and the room fills slowly with steam. When Remus finishes, his hands are shaking and he’s sweating from exertion. He feels himself sway and he can’t quite manage to grip the sink in time, but when he falls strong arms are wrapping around him, hooking underneath his knees, lifting him up.

Remus is barely conscious. He feels warm water envelop his aching body, feels Sirius’ hands scrubbing the blood from his skin. A tingling sensation on his face tells him Sirius has healed his scratches and black eyes. 

_ Thank you. _

Remus isn’t sure if he’s thought it or said it out loud, but Sirius’ lips press against his forehead and Remus sinks into darkness.

\---

Remus wakes in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, tucked tightly around his body. He struggles slightly to free himself, shoulder aching with the effort. The curtains are shut so completely not a single ray of sunlight penetrates them. He looks around for his alarm clock, which seems to have disappeared. Frustrated, he throws back the duvet completely and attempts to get out of bed. His right leg is absolutely not cooperating; while it doesn’t hurt, he just can’t feel it at all. As if it’s been severed from his body entirely.

A noise from behind him makes him look around in surprise. Sirius is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, tapping his wand against his bicep.

“I thought you might try to escape,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Remus is attempting to move his leg with his hands. It feels like shifting a heavy sandbag, and his hurt shoulder is soon screaming in protest.

“Fuck’s sake,” he growls. “What time is it? I’ve got to open the shop.”

“You’re ill,” Sirius says curtly. He flicks his wand and Remus is entombed once again by his duvet. “You’re taking a day off. The shop is closed.”

“What?!” Remus shouts. “You can’t just decide that for me!”

“Bit late for that.” Sirius strides over to the bed and sits down. He picks up a small jar Remus has never seen before from the bedside table and opens it. It holds a green paste that smells vaguely of blueberries. Sirius throws back the duvet and reaches for Remus’ waist.

“What are you doing?” Remus demands, slapping at his hand. Sirius glares at him so fiercely that he relents, allowing Sirius to tug down his trousers to rub the paste on his numb hip.

“It’s for joint pain,” Sirius says, massaging Remus’ hipbone. “Heals any damage caused by dislocation, muscle tear, ripped tendons, that sort of thing.”

“Why can’t I feel my leg?”

“It numbs the area while it’s working,” Sirius explains. “You had a lot of damage.”

He wipes off residual paste from his hands, closes the jar and covers Remus again. He looks up at Remus and smiles, reaching out for his hand and squeezing.

“Numb leg aside, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Remus says, feeling petulant. “I could have opened today. I always open the day after the full.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t,” Sirius says. “I know for a fact you haven’t slept the past two nights, and if I hadn’t been there last night -”

“I would have been  _ fine _ ,” Remus hisses. “Just like I’ve been fine every full moon for the last thirty years.” He pushes Sirius’ hand away.

Sirius frowns. “You were passed out covered in blood. You would have gone to work like that?”

Remus laughs drily. “You think last night was the worst off I’ve been? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that was positively mild.”

Sirius opens his mouth as if to retort, but promptly shuts it and looks away, face flushed. His fingers worry at the corner of the duvet. Remus sighs and reaches out for his hand again.

“You can’t fix this, Sirius,” he says once Sirius has turned to meet his gaze. “You can’t fix me.”

Sirius’ eyes are wide and bright and their sincerity makes Remus’ stomach flip.

“I don’t want to fix anything,” Sirius says softly. “I want to help.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“No,” Sirius agrees, “but maybe because you never thought you could.”

Remus doesn’t respond. He has nothing to say. His heart is pounding out of his chest at the expression on Sirius’ face and he can’t bring himself to look in his eyes.

Other than his mother, Remus has never had someone in his life who cared so deeply about his well-being. And even then, while his mother had done her best to heal all his physical injuries, she’d always gone along with what his father declared was best - hiding Remus away, containing him forcefully. She’s never asked about his transformations in the forest, never wondered how he fared, whether or not he was injured.

“Remus…”

He looks up. Sirius is frowning, biting his lip. His grip on Remus’ hand is tight and a little painful.

“When I was younger,” Sirius says hesitantly, “my parents would...well, they hurt me.”

Remus’ chest tightens. He’d had suspicions. The way Sirius avoided talking about his parents, how he mentioned running away and being adopted by the Potters. Remus hadn’t asked, figuring Sirius would talk about it when he was ready, if ever. Hearing him say it out loud makes Remus’ body buzz with anger.

“The Blacks are an old Pureblood family,” Sirius says, eyes on their hands. “One of the oldest. These days, with more and more Pureblood families marrying Muggles or half-bloods, sometimes you have to keep it all in the family in order to really stay ‘Pure-blooded’.” Sirius grimaces. Remus squeezes his hand and he smiles tightly.

“My parents are very invested in keeping the bloodline as ‘clean’ as possible. Both my brother and I were betrothed to our cousins since we were born. Aside from the fact that my cousin Bellatrix is an absolute monster of a human being and I would rather die than marry her, I’d always felt their way of thinking was archaic and horrible. I was the first Black from the main bloodline to speak out against it in centuries, and my parents made sure I was always properly punished.”

Sirius pauses, meets Remus’ eyes. Remus aches at the pain in his eyes and he leans over to kiss Sirius softly. He can hear Sirius’ heart beating frantically and doesn’t pull away until it’s calmed slightly.

“Sirius, it’s okay,” he says softly.

“Sorry, I have to, just...” Sirius murmurs. “I...my father would  _ Imperio  _ me whenever there was a function of any kind. Make sure I acted as they wanted. When I learned to break it, my mother tied me up in the cellar and  _ Crucio’ _ d me for three days.”

Tears well in Remus’ eyes and he blinks them back with difficulty. 

“When I got to school,” Sirius continues, “it didn’t take long for James to cotton on to what was happening. I mean, when I was Sorted into Gryffindor, my mother sent a Howler screaming at me for ‘fraternizing with Mudblood scum’. So I suppose it wasn’t that hard to figure out how things were at home. When he finally confronted me about it, I denied it, of course. It took me a long time to finally listen to what he was saying, to even consider his offers of help, let alone accept them.

“I’d never had any friends, not really. Not anyone who wasn’t somehow related to me, anyway. I didn’t really know what it meant. I didn’t understand how anyone could help. It was the way it had always been, and would be until I became of age and could legally leave. But on Christmas of fifth year, my parents tried to force a wedding. They both  _ Imperio _ ’d me so it would be strong enough to hold. Once I’d taken the Unbreakable Vow, I’d be stuck with Bellatrix forever.

“James had already given me the mirrors, we used them all the time over school breaks. I’d just called him when my father came in to cast the  _ Imperio _ and bring me downstairs. I guess James heard what happened and came running...him and his parents burst into the house in the middle of the ceremony, broke me out. I’ve never been back.”

Sirius falls silent, hands shaking slightly in Remus’. Remus doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Sirius exhales loudly, shaking his head slightly.

“I know I can’t speak for you, Remus,” he says slowly. “I know it’s not my place to decide anything for you. But I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, and I want to help. There’s no reason you should deal with those injuries alone. No reason you have to power through the day after when you’re dead on your feet. Nothing will happen if you’re closed one day a month.”

“They’ll find out,” Remus says quietly, words catching in his throat. “If I’m always closed after the full moon.”

“Have you thought about hiring an employee?”

“I - yes. But they’d find out, too.”

Sirius sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, maybe they wouldn’t care. Like me.”

Remus lets his head fall back against his pillow, eyes closed. He feels extraordinarily tired.

“It doesn’t matter, Sirius. It doesn’t matter who cares or not. If the Ministry finds out I’ve been unregistered for nearly twenty years they’ll lock me up.”

“And if you go to them? Declare yourself?”

Remus’ eyes snap onto Sirius’. “They’ll still chain me up in silver. I’m a dangerous creature who has been preying on innocent witches and wizards for years. That’s what they’ll say. They don’t care about the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispers. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

Remus shrugs. “We all have shit to deal with,” he says, “I - you can help, if you want. I’m sorry I’m such an ungrateful bastard.”

Sirius leans close and kisses his cheek gently. “It’s okay. Being a curmudgeon definitely fits the middle-aged bookshop owner aesthetic.”

Remus smiles and rests his head against Sirius’. “I’m sorry, too. For what you’ve had to go through.”

“Life got a lot better once I moved in with the Potters,” Sirius says. “Last I heard from dear old Mum was ten years ago after I was outed in the  _ Prophet _ , in the form of a Howler.”

“I’m sure that was a fun one,” Remus grimaces.

Sirius snorts. “Oh yeah, she got creative with the queer insults. Lots of broom metaphors.”

“Because of Quidditch?”

Sirius sits back, looking thoughtful. “You know? I’d never thought about that. Wow, what a poet.”

Remus laughs and pulls Sirius close to kiss him deeply. When they break apart, Sirius smiles and gets up, taking the small jar of healing paste with him.

“Am I allowed to know what time it is?” Remus asks. “Now that I am no longer a flight risk?”

Sirius smirks. “I’m still not sure about that. It’s just after one in the afternoon.”

Remus sinks back against his pillows. “Fucking hell. I can’t believe I slept that long.”

“Yes, well, you were pretty severely injured,” Sirius says drily, eyeing him from the doorway. “Whatever you say about how ‘mild’ it was.”

“When can I expect to feel my leg again?” Remus asks, sulking.

“I’ll give you another rub-down in the evening, should be healed by morning.”

“Thank you, Healer Black,” Remus rolls his eyes.

Sirius stalks over to his side again, leaning down so his face is an inch from Remus’. His eyes are dark and his mouth quirked.

“If you behave nicely, Mr Lupin,” he purrs, “I might consider giving you one of my extra special rub-downs.”

A shiver runs through Remus as Sirius brushes his lips ever so lightly against Remus’.

“Now,” Sirius says, straightening up, “I’m going to go get us lunch. Many and varied though my talents are, they end with the culinary arts.”

Remus has nodded off again by the time Sirius returns forty five minutes later, bursting noisily into the room.

“Sorry!” he exclaims when he notices Remus startle awake.

“S’okay,” Remus mumbles, sitting up against his headboard. 

Sirius is carrying two paper bags stuffed full of food. The smell of roast chicken wafts over to Remus and his stomach growls loudly in response. Sirius grins at the noise and sets up a tray over Remus’ legs, casting an enlargement spell on it so it can fit all the food he’s brought.

“Sorry it took so long,” he says, pulling forks and knives out of one of the bags. “Rosmerta was interrogating me about you. You’d think Rita Skeeter had hired her.”

Remus grimaces, spearing his chicken thigh rather more viciously than needed.

“That name does not exist in my household,” he says. 

“Sorry. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Remus laughs and digs into his food. By the time he is feeling properly sated he has eaten more than half of what Sirius has brought, and Sirius is staring at him incredulously.

“How?” Sirius asks simply, gesturing at the empty containers scattered across the tray.

Remus shrugs and swallows his mouthful of potatoes. “Werewolf metabolism.”

“Merlin’s pants,” Sirius curses, “and here I am working out at five every morning, eating chicken breasts and broccoli.”

Remus downs a glass of pumpkin juice, nearly choking as he remembers Sirius was probably supposed to go to work today.

“Work!” he cries. “Don’t you - training? You don’t have training today?”

“I’m sick,” Sirius says plaintively. “Can’t you tell?”

Remus shakes his head. “I’m sure they’ll figure you out when your photo’s in the  _ Prophet _ tomorrow: ‘ _ Sirius Black Buys Enough Chicken to Feed a Small Village _ **_!_ ** ’”

Sirius snorts with laughter. “ _ Sirius Black Smothers Ungrateful Werewolf Boyfriend With Affection and Food All Day. _ ”

“What a tosser that boyfriend is.”

“Absolutely.” Sirius kisses Remus’ forehead and begins clearing up the empty plates.

“By the way,” he says, biting his lip thoughtfully. “I have a match coming up. Next week.”

“I know,” Remus says slowly, heart suddenly pounding loudly in his ears.

“I want you to come.”

Remus’ stomach lurches unpleasantly. He can’t even begin to imagine how many photographers will be there, journalists, people dying to see Sirius Black with his reclusive boyfriend out in public at last. But this is part of what he’s chosen, in dating a celebrity. And Quidditch is Sirius’ life, he knows how important it is for him to share it with Remus.

“It’s in the evening,” Sirius continues, speaking fast now, “so you wouldn’t have to close early. James and Lily will be there, you can sit with them and James can keep off any nosy journalists. Please?”

Remus smiles despite the anxiety pulsing through his body. 

“Of course,” he manages, throat dry.

Sirius beams, swooping down and kissing Remus soundly.

“Thanks,” he says softly, and continues gathering up food containers. “I’ll send you James’ Floo, you can Apparate over with them.”

“Okay. You have something in your hair.” Remus reaches up to brush his fingers through Sirius’ soft hair and unearths a large black beetle.

“Eurgh!” Sirius cries, flapping his arms. “What the fuck?!”

Remus laughs at the dramatic response and the look of sheer disgust on Sirius’ face.

“It must’ve come in when you brought in the food. Here.” Remus conjures a small jar around the beetle and hands it to Sirius. Sirius takes it gingerly, cringing. “Let it out outside.”

“Can’t I just kill it?”

Remus tuts, “Such a savage. Just tip it out the window, Mr Drama.”

“It was in my _ hair _ , Remus,” Sirius groans, throwing the whole jar out the window. Remus hears a tinkling of glass as it hits the pavement below.

“Well, it’s probably dead now anyway, after that,” Remus muses. “Now come help me up, I’ve got to pee.”

\---

Remus stands in front of the mirror, fussing with the stiff collar of his shirt. It's itchy no matter which way he tries to arrange it and he sighs in frustration. He'd allowed Sonya to help him find clothes for the match tonight, and while the green button down shirt  _ does _ look nice with his auburn hair, it is the most fucking uncomfortable thing he has ever worn. Sonya has given him new jeans as well, tighter than he would normally wear, claiming "Let Britain see that ass." 

"Fucking hell," Remus mumbles under his breath, raking a hand through his carefully arranged curls and swearing again. 

"It'll just get messed up in the Floo again, anyway," he explains to his mirror as it tuts loudly. 

"If that's what you need to tell yourself, dear," the mirror sighs.

"Fuck it!" Remus exclaims, throwing up his hands. He gathers his coat and flips off the mirror before heading for the fireplace. 

His stomach is churning as he scoops up a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the grate. He takes a deep breath and steps into the green flames. 

"Potter, sixteen Godric's Hollow!" 

He emerges from a fireplace much larger than his own, into a living room much more nicely decorated than his. A black cat with a white chest is lying on the sofa, tail flicking lazily and yellow eyes narrowed at him. 

"Hello," Remus says quietly. The cat hisses in response. 

"Seems about right," Remus mutters, edging his way past the sofa and angry cat. 

"Hello?" he calls, crossing into what seems to be the entrance hall. 

"Hi!" a woman's voice yells from upstairs. "Be down in a minute! James it's Remus, put your damn shoes on already." 

Remus smiles to himself as he glances around the hallway. It's lined with family photos of James, Lily and Harry, all smiling and laughing and generally exuding happiness. In one picture, James has grabbed a much younger Harry by the ankles and is swinging him around in circles. 

Footsteps come thundering down the stairs beside him, and James grins at him while pulling on his coat. 

"Heya," he says, grasping Remus' hand in a brief shake. "You ready?" 

"No," Remus says truthfully. "But here we are." 

James' grin widens and he pats Remus' shoulder. "Good man. OI!" he shouts suddenly, and Remus flinches. "Who's late now?!" 

"Shut it," Lily responds, coming down the stairs slowly, fastening an earring in place. "Wow, Remus, you look great!" She eyes him up and down and Remus can feel his cheeks burn. "That shirt really brings out your eyes." 

"His eyes aren't green," James interjects.

"They've got green in them." 

"Looks more yellow than green." James is squinting and peering at Remus' eyes and Remus feels them starting to water. 

"Stop it!" Lily slaps James and he straightens up. "His eyes are hazel-green, you great oaf, and we're going to be late."

"Fine, fine," James rolls his eyes and winks at Remus. He holds out his arms for them each to grab one. Remus does, feeling his hands shaking as he clenches James' arm. 

"Ready?" James asks, and Remus nods mutely. 

A second later they've Apparated into a room so noisy and full of people that Remus feels the panic rise immediately in his throat. He doesn't release his grip on James, who leads them through the crowd to the ticket counter. The clerk sitting behind the thick pane of glass looks almost as harried as Remus feels. 

"Twenty four Galleons," the clerk says automatically.

"No, we've got family tickets," James says. "James and Lily Potter and Remus Lupin. Seats for Black." 

The clerk looks up at that, eyes locking onto Remus with unabashed interest. Remus looks away, face on fire and hands trembling. 

"Hey," James raps sharply on the glass. "Got our tickets or not?" 

"Yes, sir," he mumbles irritably, handing over three slips of paper. "Enjoy the game." 

"Dickhead," James mutters, pulling both Remus and Lily out of the room, down a short hallway, past the uniformed workers checking tickets, and towards a deafening roar of noise that sends Remus' pulse into overdrive. 

They exit into the stadium, and Remus squints against the blinding lights. Huge screens are flashing advertisements from every possible corner, and massive floodlights on the ceiling fill the stadium with white light. He feels James tug on his sleeve and follows, making their way up multiple flights of stairs until they're even with the tops of the huge golden hoops on either side of the pitch. 

James stops beside a section of seats cordoned off behind a thick red rope. He lifts the rope, gesturing Lily and Remus to enter. As soon as Remus passes the rope, the noise diminishes drastically and his ears pop. 

"Fucking hell," he says, rubbing his ear. "That's handy." 

"Remus," Lily nudges him in the ribs and he notices their area is full of families with small children, all of whom are staring at him. 

"Oh, erm, sorry," Remus chokes out, willing himself not to Apparate home on the spot. 

James greets several families with warm familiarity, and Lily leads Remus to their seats in the front row. 

"No wonder Sirius likes you," Lily smirks, eyes bright with laughter. "You're just as foul as him." 

"I resent that," Remus protests. "Anyway, it's not my fault they put us in the kid's section." 

"It's for families of the players," Lily explains, shrugging off her coat and flipping her long red hair over one shoulder. "One of the perks of knowing Sirius. Free tickets." She winks and Remus smiles, turning to look out over the pitch. 

Remus doesn't know a lot about Quidditch, but it feels like the perfect view. They're right in the middle of the pitch, eye level with where he supposes most of the action will be happening. He leans over the rail slightly and can see the two teams already trooping out onto the grass. 

"Excellent!" James says, sliding into the seat beside him. "Perfect timing. What'd I tell you, Lil?" 

"Yes, yes, you're a genius," Lily says, reaching across Remus to pinch James' arm. 

A flash of light startles Remus, and he looks over to see a group of photographers standing just outside their section. The second his face is turned towards them their cameras go crazy, clicking and flashing with vigour. Remus looks away, clenching his hands tightly on the railing. 

"They can't come in," James reassures him. "But we can't stop them taking photos. Sorry, mate." 

"It's okay," Remus whispers, throat tight. He turns his attention to the players far below, identifying Sirius as one of two blue blurs holding a Beater's bat. The Captains of each team step forward to shake hands, then the players are mounting their brooms and shooting into the air. 

The announcer's magically magnified voice rings clear through their section, calling out each player's name as they whiz in a lap around the stadium. Each family cheers as their loved one's name is called, and Remus notices a few of the players waving as they pass their row of seats. 

Sirius' name is called and Remus' eyes lock onto him as James and Lily cheer loudly. There's no mistaking Sirius slows down as he nears them. Remus' heart beats out of his chest when Sirius blows him a kiss and wink. The photographers on either side of them go into a frenzy again, but despite the clicking of the bulbs and the flush rising in his cheeks, Remus finds he doesn't much care. He's smiling stupidly and waving at Sirius, and then he's gone again and the other team is making their laps. 

Remus can barely follow along with the frantic speed of the game play. He just tries his best to keep his eyes on Sirius, who is quite obviously a fan favourite. Every swing of his bat is met with uproarious applause from the Puddlemere fans, and Remus soon finds himself yelling himself hoarse along with the rest of them. When Sirius pulls off a particularly well aimed shot at the Ballycastle Bat's Keeper, preventing them from pulling ahead, the whole stadium roars, half boos and curses and half screams of delight.

The match is over just as Remus is getting the hang of what's happening. The Puddlemere Seeker is soaring high above everyone else, golden Snitch clutched in her fingers. Remus hadn't even been watching the Seeker. 

"Puddlemere wins!" the announcer roars. "Proving themselves to be nearly unbeatable as they win their third match in a row! Good luck to the Arrows next month! You'll have your work cut out for you!" 

Sirius' team is sinking in one giant hug down to the grass, Seeker raised high above them. Remus smiles as he catches sight of Sirius' euphoric face.

"That was a fast one," says James. "Good thing we got these tickets free." 

He leads the way over to the entrance of their area, putting a bracing hand on Remus' back as they step across the rope into a wall of noise. He can feel Lily grab his hand as he fights his way through the photographers, head bowed. 

"Remus! Remus!" 

"Mr Lupin!" 

"Remus, is it true that -" 

"They say you're a -" 

"Bugger off!" James shouts, pushing one brave journalist out of the way as he tries to stick a microphone in Remus' face. 

Remus rushes by as quickly as he can, barely able to hear the reporter's questions over the cheering from the stands. James herds them over to a relatively quiet stairwell and they begin the spiraling trip down. 

"Sirius'll be down here," James says, "He always waits for us before going off with the team."

They reach the bottom of the stairs, Remus panting slightly, and exit into a small grassy area that's roped off from the rest of the pitch. It's slowly filling with people; there's already a line of photographers snapping shots of the players as they exit the pitch and head for the locker rooms. 

Remus sees Sirius, arms thrown around two of his teammates, the three of them chatting easily with a reporter, supposedly about the match. They're all of them beaming. Sirius' hair is thrown up in a careless knot, several strands have fallen loose and are sticking to his forehead with sweat. 

Sirius notices Remus and his smile makes Remus' chest ache. Sirius breaks free from his teammates and hops the rope dividing him from the general public. The photographers all swivel to follow him as he strides towards Remus, wraps his arms around his waist and kisses him long and hard. 

The shouts and whooping from the surrounding crowd fades away. Remus presses into the kiss, draping his arms over Sirius' shoulders. When they break apart, all he sees is Sirius, eyes wide and bright, his cheeks flushed. 

"You were brilliant," Remus says earnestly. 

"Thanks," Sirius grins. "Did you even know which one I was?" 

"Of course," Remus retorts. "You're the only one pratty enough to insist on a short sleeved uniform." 

Sirius throws his head back in laughter, then dips Remus low in another long kiss. 

"Drama queen," Remus whispers in his ear when they straighten up again. 

"Sometimes you have to give the people what they want," Sirius smirks, winking at the crowd gathered behind Remus. He releases Remus, turning to hug James and Lily, both of whom congratulate him profusely. 

"Remus John Lupin?" a harsh voice comes from beside him. 

Someone grabs Remus hard by the upper arm. He's ready to yell at an over eager reporter, but comes face to face with a tall, foreboding man in a Ministry uniform. He barely catches sight of the badge the man is waving at him before he's being forcibly dragged to the side. 

"Walden MacNair," the man is saying in an undertone. "Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I'm placing you under arrest for failure to properly register with the Ministry after infection of the lycanthropic curse." 

Remus' heart is in his throat, his vision is blurring at the edges, his knees buckle beneath him. MacNair's vice grip forces him to his feet.

"Remus?" Sirius is grabbing his other arm. "What's happening? Who are you?" 

"Mr Lupin is coming with me." 

"Like fuck he is," Sirius spits, jerking Remus towards him.

“MacNair, what are you doing?” James has joined them, looking furious. The crowd around them has grown silent, even the reporters seem dumbstruck. The photographers, however, are having an absolute field day.

“My job, which has nothing to do with you, Potter,” MacNair sneers. He rips Remus away from Sirius and pulls something from his pocket. Remus can feel the cold sting of silver before it touches him. Handcuffs. He jerks away from MacNair instinctively.

“I’ll come,” he says through the panic in his throat, twisting his wrist in an attempt to break MacNair’s grip.

“Oh, I know you will,” MacNair practically purrs. “This is just a precaution. I’m sure you understand.”

The silver closes around his wrists and Remus cries out, falling to his knees. 

Sirius charges forward, fist raised. James grabs him and struggles to hold him back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sirius yells at MacNair

“Restraining a Class A dangerous creature,” MacNair replies calmly. He snaps his fingers and two uniformed officers haul Remus to his feet. Remus’ vision has gone black around the edges, the sting from the silver eating down to his bones. He lifts his head with difficulty, finds Sirius’ face through the blur of pain.

“I’ll be okay,” he says weakly.

“Remus!”

Then he is being Apparated away, and in the tight tunnel of Apparition he loses consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _ Ennervate _ .”

“Sir, maybe we should remove the -”

“Are you out of your mind? Do you know what this thing is capable of?”

“It’s just - I don’t think - I don’t think he’ll wake up, if we’ve got the silver on him.”

“ _ Ennervate! _ ”

Remus feels as though a giant hand is pulling him upwards from a deep fog, when all he wants to do is keep sleeping. He vaguely feels something poking his forehead, pushing his head up.

“ _ Ennervate!!” _

His eyelids drag themselves open, eyes unfocussed. The pressure on his forehead releases and his head drops forward, jaw slack, thin trail of drool dripping onto his chest.

“Very well. Wands on him from  _ every _ angle.”

“Yes, sir.”

A heaviness drops from Remus’ arms and he draws in a deep, gasping breath. The fog is clearing from his vision and he raises his head. He is seated at a table, arms stretched out in front of him, until only a moment ago shackled to a thick iron ring on the table. There are deep, bloody welts encircling his wrists, skin around them blistered and oozing.

MacNair sits opposite him, leaning back in his seat, tapping his wand slowly against the table.

“Are you Remus John Lupin?” MacNair asks, voice cold.

Remus blinks heavily, trying multiple times before he can get out a small  _ yes _ .

“Are you the owner of the Wolf’s Tale bookshop in Hogsmeade Village?”

“Yes.”

“What is the address of this shop, Mr Lupin?”

“F-Fourteen, Maple Lane.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty f-four.”

Remus glances around him, noticing the circle of Aurors all with their wands aimed at him.

“Mr Lupin.” Remus’ eyes snap back to MacNair’s. “Are you a werewolf?”

Remus says nothing.

MacNair heaves a deep sigh and sits forward, eyes boring into Remus’. 

“Mr Lupin, while your reaction to silver is in and of itself incredibly incriminating, there are several creatures who suffer from a silver allergy. I ask you again, are you a werewolf?”

“I want,” Remus swallows past the thick lump in his throat. “I want to talk to someone. I have rights.”

“Wizards have rights, Mr Lupin. You are not a wizard.”

“Fuck you,” Remus spits, and each one of the Aurors steps closer.

MacNair grins, showing sharp, uneven teeth.

“Very well, Mr Lupin. If you refuse to cooperate we shall be forced to keep you here until the next full moon. I believe the next one is in three week’s time.” MacNair stands up, nodding at the Auror to his left. He strides out of the room and the door clicks shut behind him.

The Auror picks up the silver shackles, stained red with Remus blood. Panic rises in Remus and every hair on his body stands on end.

“No, no no no,” he whimpers, scrabbling back in his chair. Someone grabs him from behind and holds him in place as they force the handcuffs onto his ruined wrists.

His eyes roll back in his head and he falls into darkness.

\---

Remus' cell is small and cramped with no windows. He doesn't know what time it is, barely knows how many days he's been here. The food they shove under his door twice a day is the same every time. He's stopped eating it. The silver lining the bars of his cell has settled into the pit of his stomach, making him weak and nauseated. 

He tries his hardest to not think of anything. He's exhausted all the anxieties over and over again, and there's no point anymore. He'll be here until the full moon, prove he's a werewolf, and then…then what? 

No point. He's not in control of anything that happens to him anymore. He's just another caged animal. He rolls onto his side, arm dangling off the edge of his cot. When he woke up in the cell, his wrists had been wrapped in bandages soaked with murtlap essence, which soothed the ache. But no one has been back to bring him fresh bandages, so his wrists are healing slowly and painfully. They'll be his thickest scars yet. 

Footsteps approach his cell, but Remus doesn't move. It must be meal time. His last meal lies exactly where they left it however many hours ago. 

"Remus?" 

He glances up, sees James. He doesn't get up. Figures it's James, not Sirius. Why would Sirius come for him; he's probably too busy dealing with his angry fans. 

"Remus." James' voice is more assertive now, and Remus sighs heavily before pushing himself up into a sitting position. A wave of dizziness turns his vision white and he closes his eyes until it passes. 

"I'm so glad to see you," James says earnestly. "I've been trying for ages to come down here. Had to finally pull out the Head Auror card and call in a few favors. 

Remus shrugs. "Well, here I am," he says, voice scratchy and hoarse. 

"They won't even let your parents in." 

Remus looks up. "My parents are here?" 

"Of course. And Sirius." Remus' heart pounds and he looks down at the floor. 

"They say your parents and Sirius are too close, that they'll try to help you escape," James says, anger apparent in his voice. 

Remus snorts. "I should show them my father's last few letters. They'll let him in for sure." 

"Remus, I…" James hesitates. 

"Why are you even here?" Remus sighs. 

"I want to help," James says, affronted. "I've been trying to help, we all have. But it's not my Department, not my jurisdiction." 

"Of course it's not." 

"They're going to keep you here until the full moon, there's nothing I can do about that." 

Remus glares at him and James winces. "And then?" 

"And then they'll probably interrogate you again. Ask why you haven't registered."

" _ Ask. _ "

"Remus," James says softly. "Why haven't you registered?" 

A bubble of hysterical, bitter laughter rises and bursts from Remus. Tears sting his eyes. 

"I didn't want to be kept in a cage anymore." 

James swallows and nods. "I'll do my best. I will. We have witnesses of character, people who will vouch for you. We can try to keep you out of the Ministry cells."

Remus leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. "Okay." 

James is silent for a moment, and Remus hopes he's gone. But then he clears his throat, and Remus opens his eyes slowly. 

"Sirius is going crazy," James says in a low voice. "I've never seen him like this before." 

"Poor guy." 

"He hasn't gone to training at all since they took you. He's talked to everyone in the Ministry trying to get you out. He thinks it's his fault." 

Remus says nothing. He stares at James through half lidded eyes. James bites his lip. 

"Do you think it's his fault?" 

"I think if I wasn't dating him, this wouldn't have happened."

"Are you angry?" 

"Is this couples therapy?"

James frowns, clearly at a loss. 

"You should go," Remus says, lowering himself back down on the cot to stare at the ceiling. 

"I'll get them to look at those wounds," James says, and Remus raises a slow thumb's up.

"Remus…"

" _ What?! _ " Remus snaps. He sits up again, eyes burning. A surge of anger is pulsing through him, an uncontrollable urge to scream and break something, anything, himself.

"Fucking  _ what _ , James?!" he yells. "Tell me what the fuck you want me to say so you can report back to Sirius that I'm fine and that I don't hate him. Tell him that I'm counting down the days to see him again. Tell him that I've had a change of heart and actually I'm  _ glad  _ the Ministry knows about me now. What a  _ relief _ to not have to  _ hide  _ anymore. I'm so fucking  _ happy  _ the whole fucking Wizarding world knows about my fucking life now."

James' eyes are wide but he doesn't recoil, doesn't flinch. 

"That's not -" 

"What's going on in here?" 

Two guards have arrived, wands drawn, pointed at Remus. 

“We’re fine,” James says firmly.

The guards look hesitant to believe him, and all too eager to use their wands. Remus realises he’s on his feet, hands clenched into fists. His heart is pounding hard and fast, and his throat feels torn from his outburst. He wants James to go, wants him to tell Sirius to stay away, to go back to his life and forget about the werewolf who ruined everything.

He drops heavily onto his cot, tears leaking down his face. The guards are tugging James away. 

“It’ll be over soon, Remus,” James calls to him. “It’ll be okay!”

Remus turns to face the wall, curls up as tightly as he can manage, and sobs.

\---

Someone does come in to tend to his wounds. An older man wearing St Mungo’s robes, who shakes his head and tuts at the state of Remus’ wrists.

“Power hungry savages,” he mutters under his breath, but still loud enough that the guards standing watch turn to scowl at him.

He gives Remus a potion to drink twice daily for a week, and redresses the still oozing sores with more murtlap essence. He leaves a spool of bandaging for Remus to use as needed.

“Now,” the Healer says in a stern voice. “You need to eat, young man. In your current state, the next full moon will kill you.”

“Here’s hoping,” Remus says drily, then cowers slightly at the Healer’s glare. “Fine.”

The Healer packs up his things, then speaks in such a low undertone Remus nearly misses it. “I have a message from Mr Black.”

Remus freezes, stomach clenching painfully.

“He wants you to know that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere until you are released.”

Remus closes his eyes tight to stop the tears from falling. He nods his thanks to the Healer, but when he looks up again the man is gone.

\---

Remus does his best to force down the tasteless food they serve him every day, mindful of the Healer’s warning. He still doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, but soon enough he can feel the moon rise in his bones, calling to him. No amount of concrete or silver can change that.

On the day of the full moon, he is transferred to a different cell. The guards escorting him shackle him in silver again, leering with pleasure when he cries out in pain. The new cell has no bars, no opening of any kind. It is a concrete cube, and when the door closes behind the guards it melts into the wall so that he cannot even see where it was.

So this is where he’ll be spending his moons from now on. The Ministry werewolf holding cells. He wonders how many wolves are kept locked up in here, wonders if he’ll be able to feel them from nearby cells.

The moon is an ache deep inside him and he’s restless, striding from one side of the room to the other in just a few steps. He wants it to start, wants to escape, wants to not be him, just for a few hours.

He wants to run and howl and hunt, and the thought that he may never do that again has him screaming at the smooth walls of his prison. His scream tears his throat, already reforming, and becomes a howl of agony.

The wolf is alone, and the wolf is  _ angry _ .

\---

Something is tickling his nose. He tries to brush it away but can’t move his arms. They’re pinned to his sides, and he can feel something pressing down on his chest as well, preventing him from sitting up. 

His eyes open in panic, and all he can see is an orange curtain of hair. It’s what was tickling his nose as well; he blows the hair away, and Lily jumps in surprise.

“Remus! You’re awake!”

_ What are you doing here? _ Is what Remus wants to say, but his voice is not cooperating, and all that comes out is a hoarse rasping groan. Lily rushes to bring him a glass of water, and Remus notices the old Healer from before hovering near the wall.

Remus drinks gratefully through a straw, then clears his throat and tries again.

“Why are you here?”

“Healer Radisson insisted I come and help,” Lily says, smiling. “Even though it’s not my normal area of expertise.”

“Nonsense,” says Radisson, stepping forward. “You’re in the Curse Damage department. What is lycanthropy if not damage from a curse?”

“Where am I?” Remus interrupts. He still cannot sit up, or move any part of his body aside from his head.

“Still in the holding cell,” Lily says, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “You weren’t waking up after the full moon so they called us in.”

Wasn’t waking up?

“How - how long - ?”

“Four days,” Lily says softly, brushing hair away from his forehead. “But you’re much improved, now. We got a handle on your external injuries, and once we can be sure you’re not bleeding internally anymore we can lift the stasis spell.”

So that’s why he can’t move. Forced paralysis. Remus squashes down the panic trying to well up inside him.

“I’m going to put you under again, Remus,” says Lily, pulling out her wand. “At least until we’ve got everything completely under control.”

She murmurs a spell and Remus feels a wave of exhaustion blanket him. He hears Lily whisper in his ear  _ we’re all here for you _ before he’s gone once more.

\---

When they finally bring him in for questioning, Remus is ready for the silver shackles. Lily slipped him a cream she claims will help repel the effects, if he rubs it on an hour before. The guards look disappointed and maybe a bit scared when he doesn’t so much as flinch when they close the manacles around his newly healed wrists.

They lead him down multiple hallways and up three flights of stairs before depositing him in the same room from the very first day. MacNair is waiting for him, sitting back, arms folded across his chest.

Remus sits down opposite him, eyes never leaving MacNair’s as they attach his chain to the table.

“Good to see you again, Mr Lupin,” MacNair says, as though they’re sitting down for lunch.

“Wish I could say the same,” Remus says drily.

MacNair smiles thinly, rolling his wand between his fingers.

“I believe when we last met you were denying your lycanthropy,” MacNair says. “Is there anything you would like to say in your defense, given recent events?”

“Tell me what I need to say that will get me out of here fastest,” Remus says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

MacNair’s eyes narrow. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr Lupin. I’ll need a full confession of your transgressions -”

“Yes, I am a werewolf. No, I didn’t register at age seventeen. What next?”

“How many humans have you harmed?”

“I - what? None.” Remus frowns, heart beating fast against his manacles.

MacNair smiles. “And how can you be sure?”

“How can  _ you _ be sure that I have?”

“As far as the Ministry is concerned, any werewolf attack in the past seventeen years where no werewolf was brought to justice is potentially connected to you.”

“What?” Remus cries. “That’s ridiculous!”

MacNair raises an eyebrow. “Is it, Mr Lupin? Can you account for every full moon since age seventeen? Do you have witnesses who can vouch for your whereabouts?”

“I - “

“How many times have you woken up, covered in blood not yours?”

Remus says nothing. MacNair stares at him for a long moment, and Remus’ head aches suddenly and fiercely. He breaks eye contact with difficulty, breathing heavily. He grits his teeth against the desire to rush forward and smash MacNair’s face into the table.

“Find anything interesting?” he says instead, heart pounding.

“You seem convinced of your innocence,” MacNair says, pointing his wand at Remus and forcing him to sit upright.

“Sorry about that,” Remus growls, teeth bared.

“Let me tell you something, Mr Lupin.” MacNair leans forward, wand still focused on Remus so he’s straining against his manacles with the effort of sitting up straight. “There is no such thing as an innocent werewolf. You are all of you foul creatures, intent only on hunting your human prey, on spreading your disease, your filth, throughout the Wizarding world.”

MacNair releases his spell and Remus slumps in his seat, gasping for breath.

“Unfortunately,” MacNair continues, “Wizarding Law forbids me to keep you past the first full moon. A law I assure you I am working hard to change. However.”

He stands up, looking past Remus’ shoulder, reaching out a hand. An Auror hands him a flat metal disc. MacNair steps towards Remus, who recoils instinctively. MacNair grins, showing his sharp teeth. He grabs Remus’ arm, ripping off the sleeve of his shirt.

“This is a tracker,” MacNair explains, calmly using his wand to cut into the flesh of Remus’ upper arm. “It will inform the Ministry as to your whereabouts. You are to report to the Ministry the day before each full moon. If you do not, guarantee you will be found and punished.”

He pushes the disc into Remus’ arm, then seals the wound. It juts out from his arm, and when MacNair taps it with his wand it vibrates sharply and emits a small red glow from beneath his skin.

“Any attempt to remove the tracker is a crime punishable by Azkaban imprisonment,” MacNair says, clearly enjoying the look on Remus’ face. “You are free to go, Mr Lupin. You shall receive a date for your trial by owl post.”

“T-trial?” Remus stammers, blood draining from his face.

MacNair looks positively gleeful.

“Was I not clear, Mr Lupin? Did you expect the Ministry to just let you slide for nearly twenty years of unregistered full moons? You are to answer for your crimes, and the Wizengamot shall decide your fate.”

An Auror grabs Remus by the arm, purposefully squeezing his new wound, and dragging him to his feet.

“Goodbye, Mr Lupin. I look forward to our next meeting.”


	6. Chapter 6

Remus feels numb as he is herded through the discharge procedure. He takes a bag with the clothes and affects he was arrested in, watching the witch who hands it to him speak but not hearing her words.

“Excuse me?” She taps him on the nose and he blinks. “You have to change. We need the jumpsuit.”

Remus looks down at his grey jumpsuit, one arm torn off, covered in blood. 

“Really?”

The witch rolls her eyes. “Just go change so I can go home.”

Remus walks into the bathroom, coming face to face with a mirror for the first time in a month. His eyes fill immediately with tears. 

He’s thin, frighteningly so. His cheeks are sunken, and a ragged beard flecked heavily with grey covers his chin. The bags beneath his eyes are like bruises, purple and stark against the unhealthy pallor of his skin.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, wiping his eyes on what’s left of his jumpsuit. He changes into his clothes, jeans that just a month ago were too tight hanging loose on his hips. The green shirt makes him look sickly. He brushes through his hair with his fingers, attempting some semblance of order. He splashes cold water on his face and scrubs his hands vigorously to remove the layer of grime that’s settled under his fingernails.

“Alright,” he says to himself, letting out a long, slow breath.

He returns the jumpsuit to the grumpy witch, and in exchange she hands him his wand. A thrill runs up his arm as he grips it at long last and he turns to face the door. He hesitates, suddenly scared of who will be waiting for him on the other side of the wall. He inhales deeply, then opens the door.

Sirius is leaning against the wall, biting his nails. Remus has never noticed him do that before. He looks paler than usual, or maybe Remus just can’t remember. His eyes light up when he sees Remus, and he immediately strides forward, raising his arms to grab Remus, then lowers them, hesitant.

“I -” he says, voice tight. “Remus.”

Remus swallows past a lump in his throat. "Hi." 

Sirius wraps his arms gingerly around Remus, as if he's afraid to break him. Remus reaches for his coat, leaning into the familiar scent of leather and citrus. 

"I'm so sorry," Sirius whispers against his hair, and Remus pulls away, smiling thinly. He glances around the room. 

"I thought my parents were here?" he says, trying his hardest to keep his voice light. 

"They were, they had to go," Sirius says, biting his lip. "Your father said something about it being…too late." 

"Oh. What time is it?" 

"Just past nine," says Sirius, looking at Remus as though he's about to explode. "James was here, too. But he - I mean, he has work in the morning, too." 

"Right."

"Remus…" 

Remus forces a smile onto his face and grabs Sirius' hand. 

"Shall we?"

Sirius smiles back hesitantly and leads him to an adjoining room full of blazing fireplaces. Remus grabs a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the grate, stepping in and out into his living room. 

The sight of his small, shabby flat nearly has him in tears. He takes a deep, trembling breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. Sirius appears behind him, and his hand on Remus' lower back sends a shockwave of panic through Remus. 

"Think I'll take a shower," Remus says quickly, stepping away and towards the bathroom without looking at Sirius. 

Under the stream of scalding water, Remus scrubs his skin raw. He needs every last particle of the cell off of him. The scars on his wrists are still red and painful and he nearly opens the skin again in his desperation to be clean. His fingers brush over the tracker embedded in his arm. A sob bursts from him and his knees buckle beneath him.

He's pressing into the metal disc in his arm, as though the harder he presses the more likely it is to disappear. His arm is soon numb from the pain. He doesn't know how long he sits on the floor of the bathtub, shaking, hot water pooling around him. 

The shower curtain is pulled aside sharply and Remus jumps. He hadn’t heard Sirius enter the room.

“Remus, are you okay?” Sirius looks panicked.

“I’m fine,” Remus says hoarsely.

“I called for you.”

“I didn’t hear.”

Sirius watches him for a moment, then turns off the water.

“Up you get.” He reaches down to grab Remus by the arm and Remus flinches away, skidding to the other side of the tub, clutching his hand over the tracker in his arm.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” Remus cries, eyes screwed shut. His heart is pounding in his ears and all he can feel is the Aurors grabbing and shackling him in silver, laughing cruelly.

When he opens his eyes again he sees Sirius kneeling by the tub, head bowed, dark hair falling in front of his face. Remus feels immediately ashamed of his outburst. It’s just Sirius.

“I’m s-sorry,” he whispers between deep, gulping breaths.

Sirius looks up, and there are tears in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you dare fucking apologise to me.”

He reaches out a hand and after a moment Remus takes it, releasing his death grip on his own arm. Sirius’ eyes lock onto the tracker, and his face pales. He says nothing, standing to pull Remus to his feet. He unfolds a towel and wraps Remus in it, careful not to touch Remus’ upper arm.

“I have tea, when you’re ready,” he says quietly, and presses a kiss to Remus’ forehead before leaving the room. 

Remus glances at himself in the mirror, at the slightly too long hair and shaggy beard. He notices Sirius has set out a razor and can of shaving cream. He picks up the razor and thinks about how just a couple of hours ago his arm was being sliced open as easily as slicing through butter. He sets down the razor and goes to get dressed.

Sirius is waiting with tea, as promised. Remus thanks him as he lowers himself heavily onto the sofa, relishing the softness and familiarity of it.

“I thought of making cocoa,” Sirius says, “but I figured I’d just ruin it.”

“Tea is great,” Remus assures him.

“Do you want something to eat?” Sirius asks, half rising from the sofa. “I can make sandwiches, I think there’s some ham and -”

“I’m fine, really.”

Sirius sits back down and sips at his own tea. Remus can tell he’s trying to think of something, anything to say to fill the silence. 

“So you’re keeping the beard?” is what he ends up going with.

“For now,” Remus says.

Sirius smiles, dimple creasing his cheek. “I like it.”

Remus looks away from him, chest aching. He gulps down the rest of his tea as quickly as he can and sets the mug on the table.

“I’m knackered,” he says, pushing himself up from the sofa.

Sirius stands up immediately. “Remus…”

“I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Remus.”

Hesitant to touch his arm, Sirius has grabbed Remus’ shirt. Remus stops but doesn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry, Remus.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. Can you look at me, please?”

Remus does, anxiety buzzing through his body. Sirius’ face is heartbreaking, eyes wide and watery, cheeks flush, mouth trembling. Remus feels the urge to punch him.

“Sirius, you don’t have to, it’s fine. Really.”

“It’s my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“You said so yourself. If you weren’t dating me -”

A rushing fills Remus’ head, drowning out Sirius’ words. His veins are full of electricity and he feels sure he’s going to explode at any moment, shattering into a thousand pieces. Sirius is still talking, he can see his mouth moving, and now his hand is on Remus’ shoulder like a thousand tonne weight.

“You should go,” Remus says, voice echoing loudly in his ears.

Sirius stops talking, frowning.

“Remus…”

“If you say my name one more _fucking_ time -” Remus stops himself, breathing hard. “I can’t do this, okay? I can’t do this right now.”

Sirius swallows and nods, biting his lip. “Okay. But I’m not leaving.”

“Fine,” Remus snaps. He turns and storms into the bedroom, leaving Sirius standing there looking like a lost puppy.

\---

Remus gets his trial date the next day. The Ministry owl swoops through his kitchen window, drops the letter on the stack of toast in the middle of the table, and swoops back out. Sirius raises his eyebrows but says nothing. He’s barely said a word to Remus since yesterday. Remus would like to think that he’s being mindful of Remus’ wishes to not talk about it, but it’s more likely he’s just scared of Remus exploding at him again.

Remus tears open the envelope, heart thudding against his ribcage. He scans the letter, ignoring all the formalities and focusing on the date. February 10th. 

“What’s the date today?” he asks Sirius.

“Twentieth of December,” Sirius responds.

Remus looks up in surprise. It’s almost Christmas. Those bastards almost made him miss Christmas. Sirius smiles at him and the pity in his eyes almost sets Remus off again.

“There’s going to be a trial,” he says shortly.

“James said there might be.”

“February tenth.”

Sirius nods, looking thoughtful. “So you have time to prepare.”

A sharp burst of laughter explodes from Remus before he can control it.

“Prepare what?” he asks incredulously.

“Your case!”

Remus is laughing in earnest now, chest heaving. “My - Sirius! I don’t have a _case_!”

“Of course you do!” Sirius looks angry now, red splotches spreading on his cheeks. “They haven’t got a leg to stand on, they can’t just accuse you without any evidence to support it.”

“They absolutely can. And will.”

“Those laws are archaic and inhumane!” Sirius shouts, and Remus’ head is echoing with MacNair’s words. _You are not a wizard, Mr Lupin_. 

“We can fight and we _will_ fight,” Sirius is on his feet now, wand raised. “ _Accio Post!_ ” he cries, and a few seconds later a low fluttering rumble from the shop below is rushing up the stairs, and hundreds of letters are spilling into the room.

Remus frowns. He lifts up the nearest letter and rips it open. It’s from a woman in Essex whose uncle was a werewolf. He killed himself just two months after being captured by the Ministry. Remus’ breath catches in his throat. He reaches for another letter, this one from a young boy who was born a werewolf, who says he is planning on escaping Britain before his seventeenth birthday. The laws in Canada are much more lenient, he says.

Remus looks up at Sirius, speechless.

“These have been coming in ever since your arrest was made public,” Sirius says, “I’ve got more at home, and even James has been getting them. People are on your side, Remus.”

Remus swallows hard, looking down at the letter in his hand. 

“It’s nice, in theory,” he says quietly. “But it won’t change anything, Sirius. It’s just people talking. Worse, werewolves talking.”

“People talking is exactly what _starts_ change.” Sirius kneels beside Remus, resting a hand on his leg. “This is the most public case of werewolf registration ever. It’s a chance to show everyone how cruel the laws are, how biased the Ministry is.”

Remus can’t listen anymore, can’t think. He stands up and walks over to the window, peering down into the street. There are at least four photographers that he can see, waiting for him. Waiting to photograph the werewolf. He rubs the disc in his arm, feeling a surge of hatred and self loathing rise in him.

“I didn’t ask to be a poster boy for werewolf rights,” he says, digging his fingernails into his arm.

Sirius’ hand is on his, gently prising his fingers away.

“I know,” his voice is low and close. Remus feels Sirius step up behind him, until his chest is pressed against Remus’ back and his arms snake around his waist, holding Remus’ hands firmly. Remus lets his head fall back onto Sirius’ shoulder.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Sirius says softly, “but I am so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I put you through all this. I’m sorry they found out because of me. I’m sorry you had to - 

“Stop.” Remus turns in his arms and presses his face into Sirius’ chest. He can feel Sirius’ pulse beating hard through his shirt. “Just - just, let’s not talk, okay?”

Sirius kisses the top of his head and says nothing.

\---

Remus shaves and trims his hair a couple of days later. The color is starting to return to his cheeks after multiple solid meals that don't consist of bland slop, and he can slowly feel his strength returning. 

The tension between him and Sirius is palpable. Their conversations are short and stilted, and any physical contact inevitably sends Remus spiraling into anxiety. Sirius is constantly apologising, despite Remus asking him to stop and assuring him he's not angry with him. Remus isn't sure if he believes himself. 

James, Lily and Harry stop by, carrying enough trays of food to last a week. Remus is extraordinarily grateful. He has yet to leave the flat to buy groceries, and given Sirius' lack of skill in the kitchen they've been eating whatever he can get from the Three Broomsticks. Remus feels as though he is slowly turning into a fried potato. 

"Are you going to be with your parents for Christmas, Remus?" Lily asks as they unpack the food into the fridge. 

"Erm…"

Remus hasn't talked to his parents yet. He responded to his mother's frantic owl assuring her that he was fine but that now was not a good time to visit. He feels only slightly guilty, remembering how they couldn't be bothered to stay long enough to see him when he was released. 

"Probably not," he says to Lily, rearranging several bottles of pumpkin juice to accommodate a pot of soup. 

"Great!" she says brightly. "Then you're with us! We don't have a big crowd, just a couple of James' colleagues and Sirius' cousin usually pops in. Harry's friend Hermione might be staying with us as well."

Remus smiles at her, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach at the thought of socializing with strangers, even if they are friends of the Potters. 

"... That's what Hermione was saying," Harry's voice carries in from the living room. "She says the legislations should have been made illegal years ago and that we're way behind other countries…" 

Remus closes the fridge door harder than necessary. Lily smiles sympathetically. 

"He's been doing his research," she says. 

"Yeah, Sirius too," Remus mumbles, hand clenching into a fist on the counter. 

Lily lays her hand over his. "Are you two okay?" she asks gently. 

Remus nods, then shrugs. "I don't know." 

"You've been through a lot, you just need to give yourselves room to breathe." 

"That's hard when he's always bloody here and I can't go outside," Remus says bitterly. 

Lily turns to him, arms crossed. 

"Okay, first of all, tell him you need space. He has a perfectly good flat of his own." 

"I did." 

"Did you? In those words?" 

"Well…"

Lily rolls her eyes and tuts loudly. "Remus, Sirius is a worrier. A protector. He can be overbearing and intense when someone he loves is hurt. And maybe it's not my place to tell you this, but he loves you and is worried about you. He doesn't know how to deal with silences and tensions. You need to say straight out what you want, otherwise he'll keep hovering and making you tea that's too sweet."

Remus' bites his lip. The tea really is too sweet. 

"And second of all," Lily continues, "you can go outside if you bloody well want. Are you or are you not a wizard? Apparate somewhere far away from those awful photographers. The only thing keeping you here is yourself."

Remus smiles at her, genuinely this time. 

"You're making it really hard to sulk properly," he says, pulling her in for a tight hug. "Thanks." 

"My pleasure," she grins. "Now go tell Sirius to bugger off." 

As they join the others in the living room and Remus catches sight of Sirius' nervous smile, he's not entirely sure that that's what he wants. He walks over to Sirius and grabs his hand, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. Sirius beams and snakes his arm around Remus' waist. Lily is shaking her head in bemusement. 

"So we'll see you on Christmas, then?" James says, clapping Sirius on the shoulder but addressing Remus. Remus nods and smiles and Sirius squeezes him closer. 

As the Potters leave, Harry promises Remus that they'll talk over Christmas, that he and Ron and Hermione have come up with lots of ideas to help his case. Remus lies and says that sounds great.

When they're gone, Remus grabs Sirius and kisses him fiercely. Lily told him he needed to talk to Sirius, but Remus doesn't know how to put what he needs to say into words. For someone who reads an awful lot, he's always been terrible with words. But this, he feels ready for. He pushes down the anxiety, the insecurity of his new scars, skeletal frame and the tracker glowing in his arm, and lets instinct take over. 

Sirius deepens the kiss and presses hard against Remus, hands bruising his waist. A high pitched moan escapes Remus as he tangles his fingers in Sirius' hair. Sirius' hands slide down Remus' ass to grip his thighs and he's lifting Remus up without breaking their kiss. Remus wraps his legs around Sirius' waist, body buzzing at the contact. 

Sirius carries him into the bedroom and lays him down slowly onto the bed. Remus' ankles are still locked behind Sirius and he pulls him as close as possible, arching his hips up. Sirius' hands wander under his shirt, pushing the fabric up. Remus thinks of his ribs jutting out of his chest, each one clearly visible, and whimpers slightly against Sirius' mouth. 

Sirius pulls back and looks at Remus with such intensity that Remus has to close his eyes. He feels Sirius lift his shirt over his head and his mouth is kissing down Remus' collarbone, kissing every one of his scars, kissing each valley between his ribs. 

"Remus," Sirius murmurs and Remus opens his eyes, meeting Sirius' bright gaze. "You're so beautiful," Sirius says, kissing the sharp hollow above his hip bone.

Tears sting Remus' eyes and he tugs on Sirius' shoulders, bringing him back up to kiss his lips. Remus peels off Sirius' shirt and presses against him, hands clutching at his back, feeling the strong muscles shifting beneath his fingers. 

Sirius slides off Remus' pants with one hand, then reaching up to unbutton his own jeans. Remus is only half hard but that doesn't deter Sirius. He strokes Remus slowly, his own erection heavy and dripping on Remus' hip. Sirius brings his hand up, spits in it, then resumes his stroking and the motion makes Remus groan and jerk his hips up against Sirius. 

When Remus is fully hard, Sirius replaces his hand with his mouth and Remus nearly cries out. He grabs a handful of Sirius' hair and pushes his head down. Sirius chokes but stays down, saliva dripping from his mouth. Remus twitches against the back of his throat and he'll come if Sirius stays there any longer. Remus pulls his head up and Sirius gasps, looking up at Remus with watering eyes. Remus needs him, needs all of him, needs the pressure and the pain. 

"Sirius," Remus whispers, pleading. 

When Sirius slides into him Remus digs his fingernails into Sirius' back, moaning. Sirius' body is heavy on top of his, pressing him into the mattress with every thrust. Sirius' hands reach underneath him to grab his ass, breathing hard and labored against Remus' neck. Remus groans into the pain, urging Sirius to go faster, deeper, harder. 

Remus is close, and when Sirius' fingers clench hard into his cheeks, spreading him painfully, he gasps and shudders as his orgasm wracks his body. Sirius cries out into his shoulder, coming in short erratic bursts.

He pulls out and Remus feels his release drip onto the sheets. Remus is panting, feeling completely spent. Sirius kisses him briefly before collapsing onto his back, chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

Remus closes his eyes, heaviness spreading through his body, feeling the pulsing of pain slowly subside. As his heartbeat and breathing slow, he feels perfectly comfortable and would probably fall asleep if he didn't hear Sirius shifting beside him. He cracks open his eyes, sees Sirius propped up on his elbows, still breathing heavily. He glances over at Remus, smiling. 

"So," he says. 

Remus rolls onto his side, facing Sirius. "Lily told me that you and I had to talk." 

"Did she?" 

"I didn't feel much like talking." 

Sirius laughs. "I think we've covered the important bits." 

Remus grins and reaches out to intertwine his fingers with Sirius'. Sirius rubs his thumb gently along the scar around Remus' wrist. Remus shivers but doesn't pull away. Sirius raises their hands and kisses his wrist, and Remus holds his gaze. 

Remus knows there's so much he should be saying, most of all _I'm sorry_. But his throat is tight and the words won't come. He closes his eyes and falls asleep to Sirius stroking his wrist softly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by me :) Yes, I realize in the scene they were clothed, but let's be honest it's much more fun to draw people naked, so that's what I did.


	7. Chapter 7

_ He's strapped to a table made of silver. The man is carving words into his body with a sharp knife. Remus cannot move, he is paralyzed with pain. The man does not speak, just slices methodically. He moves on to Remus' face, knife pressing deep into his forehead. Blood spills into his eyes and the man clutches Remus' jaw tightly, examining his handiwork. He nods.  _

_ He raises his wand and the table Remus is on begins to lift itself into a standing position. Remus can see himself in the mirror opposite, crucified on the table, blood pooling at his feet.  _

_ The words "NOT HUMAN" are scrawled across every inch of his body, sharp and red and gushing.  _

_ "There," the man says, and his teeth are sharp fangs. "Now everyone will always know, Remus." _

"Remus!" 

He shoots upright in bed. His body is wet; his hands scrabble desperately at his chest but it's just sweat, not blood. There are no dripping wounds.

He practically jumps out of bed, barely noticing Sirius reaching for him. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, body trembling, sweat dripping off him. A wave of nausea rises in his throat and he runs to the bathroom. 

He sticks his head under the sink faucet and turns on the water as cold as it'll go. He gasps from the chill and shivers uncontrollably, but it pushes back the nausea and washes away his sweat. He stands doubled over, letting the water cut through the anxiety rushing through his body. 

"Remus?" Sirius' voice is small and distant. 

Remus turns off the water, breathing heavily. 

"Sorry," he whispers. "I'm okay. Go back to bed." 

Sirius' hand appears in his peripheral vision, handing him a towel. Remus takes it gratefully and rubs his head vigorously. His heart has calmed down somewhat and he no longer feels on the verge of throwing up. He peers at Sirius through the curtain of towel hanging from his head. 

Sirius smiles. "Tea?" 

"Thanks."

Remus has had nightmares every night since his release. They don't always end in panic attacks, but this one was so vivid…Remus can almost feel the knife slicing through him. He shivers and sets down the towel, heading for the living room. 

Sirius is waiting for him on the sofa with a pot of chamomile tea. Remus sinks down next to him gratefully. Sirius wraps his arm around Remus' shoulders, squeezing tight and handing him a cup of tea. 

"Sorry for waking you up," Remus says, breathing in the soothing vapors of the tea. 

"I had to get up in an hour anyway to work out," Sirius says. "I'll just get an extra head start." 

Sirius hasn't been to training since Remus was incarcerated. He'd missed their last match against the Appleby Arrows; the second string Beater had subbed in for him. Now they were on Christmas holidays anyway, and he's taken up his vigorous workout routine again to be back on form for when he goes back.

"You okay?" Sirius whispers, kissing Remus' cheek. 

"Yes," Remus closes his eyes, leaning against Sirius and clutching his piping hot mug. 

They drink their tea in silence, Sirius massaging circles into Remus' shoulder. Soon Remus feels as though he could fall asleep again right there, but Sirius is setting down his mug and standing up, stretching his long arms overhead. Remus lets out a small grunt of annoyance. 

"I was just getting comfortable," he mumbles.

"Sorry, love," Sirius says, leaning down to kiss him. "Go back to sleep, I'll be back soon and make breakfast." 

Remus snorts with laughter. "You mean I'll wake up to the smell of burning toast and have to save us all." 

"Isn't that what I said?" Sirius smirks as he changes into his tight fitting workout gear. Remus watches through half lidded eyes, still more or less stunned that a man with this kind of body is his boyfriend. 

Remus curls up against the arm of the sofa, pulling a thick tartan blanket over himself. By the time Sirius heads down the stairs and out the door for his morning run, Remus is already asleep.

Sirius does end up burning the toast. The sharp smell wakes Remus from his uneasy doze; he'd dreamt he was in the forest, as the wolf, running and running from a danger he couldn't see but could feel in every fiber of his body. He sits up, sweat beading on his forehead. The back of his neck is prickling, as though someone is watching him. He takes a deep breath and holds it for as long as he can manage before letting it out in a loud exhale. It’s getting to the point where he’d rather not sleep at all than wake up feeling so on edge.

He gets up and stops in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling as he watches Sirius attempt to fish out the burnt slices of bread from the toaster. 

“Your toaster hates me,” Sirius says angrily. “I don’t know what I’ve ever done to it to deserve such treatment.”

“You put two slices in one slot,” Remus points out.

“It fits two!”

“It’s meant for one.”

“Then why is there enough space for two?” Sirius is indignant. “Either your toaster is fat or your bread is too skinny!”

“Or,” Remus says, vanishing the bread from the toaster with a quick jab of his wand, “You’re a spoiled posh boy who never learnt to toast bread.”

Sirius pouts, crossing his arms. Remus grins at the gesture, which does nothing to disprove his point. He steps closer, grabbing Sirius’ arms to unfurl them and leaning up for a kiss.

“I’m going to shower,” Remus murmurs against Sirius’ lips. “Then I’ll make you breakfast, you hopeless sod.”

“May as well save some water,” Sirius says, dimple creasing his cheek as he smirks.

Remus kisses him again, fingers tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. 

“Come on, then.”

Remus feels it again, suddenly, as all his hair stands on end. He turns quickly, staring at the window, but there’s nothing there. Goosebumps have broken out over his skin. He could have sworn someone, or some _ thing _ was watching them…

“Remus?”

“C’mon,” Remus mumbles, grabbing Sirius’ hand and pulling him towards the bathroom.

\---

“What time are we supposed to be there?”

Remus is sprawled on the bed, face pressed into his pillow. Sirius is kissing a slow trail down his spine, hands massaging knots in his back as he goes.

“Hmm?”

“What time -” Remus gasps when Sirius reaches a particularly sensitive scar just below his ribs. “What time do we have to be there?”

Sirius raises his head, fingers kneading circles into Remus’ lower back.

“Lily said four, so that means five. She thinks I don’t know she gives me a different time than everyone else.”

Remus smiles against the pillow. “She knows how long you spend on your hair.”

“Hey!” Sirius pinches Remus’ ass and Remus squirms beneath him. “Do you want this massage or not?”

“It’s already half three,” Remus reasons, voice wavering slightly as Sirius resumes his methodical kissing.

“So we’ve got an hour and a half.”

“But you said four.”

“Which means five.”

“Who told you that?”

Sirius stops, raising himself up on his elbows. “No one, but I’m always late and I arrive just as everyone else does. I don’t need to be an Auror to figure it out.”

Remus struggles slightly to turn himself over to look at Sirius. Sirius’ hair is a tangled mess and his face is red. Remus smiles.

“It might take you an hour and a half to work out all that,” he says, gesturing to Sirius’ face.

Sirius scowls and bites at Remus' hip. "You're being very hurtful today, Mr Moony."

Laughter bursts from Remus until he's wheezing and wiping his eyes and Sirius' scowl has flickered into a regretful smile. 

"What the fuck?" Remus gasps. "Moony?"

"It's a pet name!" Sirius says, looking offended. 

_ "Moony?!" _

"Because moons," Sirius insists, biting Remus again indignantly. 

"Get off me, you mangy cur," Remus flicks Sirius on the nose and sits up. "We really should get ready. Honestly,  _ Moony."  _

Sirius rolls onto his back, showing no signs of intending to get up and get ready. 

"I give you full permission to come up with an equally amazing name for me," he says. 

Remus stands up and heads for the bathroom. "If I promise to do so, will  _ you _ promise to get up and brush your hair?"

"I'll consider it!" Sirius calls after him. 

\---

They arrive at a quarter after four, much to Lily's surprise. 

"I forgot that there's a responsible adult in the relationship!" she claims, hugging them both tightly. "Everyone else will get here around five." 

Sirius stares at Remus pointedly from over Lily's shoulder. Remus grins and shrugs. 

"How can we help?" he asks, peeling off his coat and scarf. 

"Christmas is James' thing," Lily says. "You can go help him in the kitchen if you want. Or, if you don't fancy having your arm elbow deep in a turkey, I've got wine in the sitting room." 

Remus follows Lily as Sirius immediately runs to the kitchen. Harry's friend Hermione is curled up on the sofa with a mug of tea and, Remus is amused to see, the book about house elf rights he'd gifted her.

"Hello, Hermione," he greets her as Lily fills up a glass with white wine and hands it to him. 

"Hi, Mr Lupin!" She smiles brightly at him and holds up the book. "I'm almost done." 

"How was it?" 

Hermione thinks a moment before answering. "Well, I like the points she's brought up. But it all seems very circumstantial and opinionated. All the sources I've cross referenced are shaky at best.  _ A History of House Elves  _ is much more in depth and reliably sourced."

Remus sips his wine, smiling. "Great, I'll give this one a skip, then." 

"Yes, probably not worth your time," Hermione muses, taking a long swig of tea. 

"Are you here with your family?" Remus asks, noticing there seem to be no other adults present. 

Hermione shakes her head. "Every other year my parents visit my great aunt in Cornwall. I can't stand her or her house that smells of fish, so I stay with friends." She smiles at Lily, who smiles back fondly. 

"She's always telling me I'll never find a man," Hermione continues, "if I keep dressing like a 'spinster librarian'." She rolls her eyes. 

Remus hums thoughtfully into his wine glass. "Worked for me," he says, and both women dissolve into giggles.

Remus is well into his second glass of wine when Sirius' cousin arrives and he comes thundering past him to greet her enthusiastically. 

"Dora!" he cries. "Remus, come meet Nymphadora!"

Remus hauls himself out of the extremely comfortable armchair, wobbling only briefly. Nymphadora, or "Tonks" as she insists he calls her, is an attractive young woman with vividly pink hair, cut stylishly short. She grabs Remus' hand in a slightly too energetic handshake. 

"Good to meet you, finally!" she says cheerfully. She elbows Sirius and winks. "He's a looker, innee?" 

Remus' face burns red and Sirius whispers conspiratorially to Tonks, "Shh, Remus doesn't like compliments." 

"There's only room enough for one inflated ego in this relationship," Remus says, sipping his wine.

"That's it!" Sirius exclaims as Tonks roars with laughter. "Moony's got it out for me today! No more wine!" He grabs Remus' glass and holds it high out of reach. 

"Oh God," Tonks chokes. " _ Moony?!"  _

"That's what I said!" Remus says, pinching Sirius' waist in an attempt to make him flinch and lower his arm. It doesn't work. 

"It's endearing!" Sirius stands his ground, laughing. 

"Just wait," Remus threatens. "I'll come up with something. And it'll be much worse than  _ Moony _ ." 

"I look forward to it," Sirius grins, kissing Remus on the nose and relinquishing the wine glass. 

"Ugh, you two are  _ adorable _ ," Tonks says. Remus downs the rest of his wine and goes to get more.

By the time the rest of the guests start arriving, Remus' head is properly buzzing from the wine. It's good, he thinks. This way, he doesn't have to focus on the fact that a room full of strangers all know he is a werewolf. His heart pounds at the thought, and he distracts himself by watching Sirius' face as he talks to Tonks. He's so animated, so enthusiastic. So beautiful.

Sirius has noticed him staring. He smiles, dimple crinkling his cheek, and Remus very strongly regrets cutting his massage session short earlier. He reaches for Sirius' hand and misses. His finger hooks into the belt loop of Sirius' jeans instead. Good enough. 

"James, Frank and Alice are here!" Lily calls from somewhere in the house. 

"Coming!" James bellows from the kitchen.

"Frank and Alice are Aurors, they work with James," Sirius explains to Remus. "You might know their son, Neville. He's in Harry's year." 

"Everyone here is an Auror," Remus mumbles, suddenly feeling very self conscious. The sleeves of his shirt don't quite cover the thick scars encircling his wrists. Scars Aurors put there. 

Sensing his anxiety, Sirius slips an arm around Remus' waist and kisses the top of his head. Remus tugs his sleeves as low as they'll go. 

“They’re all the good kind,” Sirius murmurs against his hair and Remus closes his eyes for just a moment, leaning into the embrace.

“Remus, Frank, Alice, Neville,” suddenly James is introducing everyone and Remus blinks quickly and begins shaking every proffered hand.

Frank and Alice both smile at him kindly over the exchange of general pleasantries. He does vaguely recognise Neville as having come into his shop a few times; an awkward looking boy who seems to be in the stages of growing up and out of his childhood chubbiness. 

“Hiya, Nev!” Harry pops up from somewhere behind Remus. “Come and look at what me and Dad have done with the turkey.”

“Anyone else coming?” Alice asks Lily as they hang up their coats.

“No, just us. Kingsley was supposed to come but he had to cancel last minute. I swear, that man never stops working.”

“Well, remember last Christmas when they called Frank in?”

“Absolute nightmare.”

“And that year James barely made it back and  _ you  _ had to make the turkey!”

Remus lets the conversation wash over him and fade into a sort of white noise. He’s quite content in being left alone. Sirius still has him around the waist as he chats easily with Frank, and Remus wonders what it would be like to be so good at making easy, carefree conversation. He feels Sirius’ fingertips tuck themselves into the waistband of his jeans and he grins into his wine glass. 

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Tonks asks, sidling up beside him.

“Just wondering if I look as out of place as I feel,” Remus says honestly.

Tonks grins and clinks her wine glass against his own. “Drown those feelings in wine.”

“Working on it.”

When James calls them all to the table, Sirius’ steadying hand on his back is a little more necessary than he’d have thought. He sits in the seat pulled out for him, between Sirius and Tonks. They're both loud enough that he feels almost protected from any conversation directed at him. 

James and Harry haul in the turkey, which seems to be almost double the size of any turkey Remus has ever seen. It takes up a whole quarter of the table. 

"Welcome one, welcome all!" James shouts theatrically, "to the annual Potter Christmas Festivities!" 

There is a light smattering of applause, punctuated by Sirius and Tonks cheering and wolf whistling. 

"Now Harry," James says seriously, turning to his son, "what was your homework over the break this year?" 

"To practice enlargement charms!" 

"And behold!" James gestures to the turkey. "I'd say that warrants an E at the very least!" 

Lily is shaking her head and smiling as everyone laughs and applauds yet again. 

"That's better than the way  _ I  _ practiced enlargement charms," Sirius mutters to Remus under his breath. 

Remus smirks, emboldened by the wine. "And here I thought I was getting the 100% natural Black experience." He squeezes Sirius' thigh slightly too high up, making him squirm. 

"Keep it in your pants, boys," Tonks grins at them, having heard it all. Remus flushes scarlet and Tonks tops off his wine glass. 

Plates of turkey are being passed around and everyone begins serving themselves helpings of potatoes, runner beans and Yorkshire pudding. 

"James made all of this?" Remus asks, impressed. 

"Yes, he's quite the gourmand," Lily says. "But only on Christmas. He only knows how to make his parents Christmas food." 

"And spaghetti!" James interjects. "I make a mean bolognese." 

"It's better than yours, Mum," Harry pipes up.

Lily rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, and spagbol." She turns to Remus, "They're always ganging up against me. It's good I've got the cat on my side."

Remus smiles and tucks into the food. As his stomach fills up, the security offered by the wine recedes and he becomes uncomfortably aware of people's gazes flicking to him every now and then, even though no one is directly talking to him. He fills up his wine glass again somewhat desperately. Everyone here already knows everything about him, anything that could be covered in smalltalk. They know where he lives, where he's from,  _ what _ he is…He drains his glass in one long gulp and fills it up again. He sees James raise his eyebrows but can't quite bring himself to care. Sirius is in a deep debate with Frank about something Quidditch related and Tonks is teasing Harry about an apparent crush of his. 

That feeling rises up in him again, the prickling around his neck and ears. He feels eyes on him, and a sense of dread fills the pit of his stomach. He turns slowly to glance behind him, hands clenched on the edge of the table. 

The cat is sitting on the windowsill, yellow eyes boring into his. It hisses, baring its sharp teeth. Remus scowls and turns back to the table. He can still feel it, and he knows it isn't the cat. 

Sirius reaches over to intertwine their fingers. 

"Okay?" he asks softly, and Remus nods, smiling tightly. 

"So, Remus," Alice begins, and Remus' stomach flips unpleasantly. "How long have you been in Hogsmeade?" 

"Nearly ten years," he replies as pleasantly as he can muster.

"Imagine how much easier life would've been if we'd had a bookshop there when we were in Hogwarts," she muses. 

"Remember when you vanished your Charms book?" Frank says to James. 

"Sirius once turned his Transfiguration one into a snail," James laughs. "Even McGonagall couldn't put it back." 

Hermione looks scandalised at all this talk of accidental destruction of books. Remus grins at her as she shakes her head slowly. 

"I put a shield charm on all of my books," she claims. 

"'Course you do," Harry snickers. 

"And your parents are still in Wales?"

"Yes, near Cardiff." Remus takes a long drink of wine. They must all know this already. 

"Wales is beautiful," Alice sighs. "I love getting out there of a summer." 

"Your next match is against Wales, isn't it?" Frank asks Sirius. 

"Yup," Sirius grins, "but don't expect me to go easy on them." 

"Bit of a conflict of interest, eh, Remus?" 

Remus shrugs. "Really couldn't care less about Quidditch." 

Sirius gasps dramatically and Remus laughs. 

"Sorry, couldn't care less about  _ Wales _ ' team. Of course I care very much about Puddlemere." 

"Of course," Sirius leans over and kisses his cheek. Remus tightens his grip on Sirius' hand under the table. 

"You coming to the Wales match?" James asks, "Should be close to where your parents live, no?"

Remus nods, shrugging again. "I suppose they can't arrest me twice."

A hush falls over the table, heavy and tense. Remus feels his face heat up. 

"Sorry," he murmurs into his wine glass. 

"Remus," Alice says, and he looks up at her. "It was absolutely awful, what they did to you. Completely inhumane and disgusting." 

People like using that word. Inhumane. Remus doesn't think they realises the Ministry does not, in fact, view him as human. He's a dangerous beast, an animal, a monster. 

"Verging on illegal," Hermione is saying, and there's a vigorous round of nodding from everyone at the table. 

Remus' body is buzzing and he doesn't know if it's from the wine or anxiety. 

"Yes, well, be that as it may," he says curtly. "I doubt the laws will be changing anytime soon."

Harry is nudging Hermione with his elbow; she appears to be gearing up for a speech. Remus had known this would happen and it still is filling him with dread. He'd forbidden Sirius from broaching the subject, claiming, "we'll deal with it after Christmas". He just can't see anything ever changing, even if he supposedly has support, and the thought of researching and coming up with a  _ case _ gives him a migraine. 

"In 1832," Hermione says, sounding for all the world like a practised history teacher, "A member of the Wizengamot, Atticus Sprawl, was discovered to be a werewolf. Sprawl was very well liked by the public - he'd been instrumental in helping pass laws which eased the restrictions on those witches and wizards who chose to pursue relationships with Muggles. Until then, anyone in a relationship with a Muggle was required to Obliviate or Confund their partner if they ever discovered anything magical. 

"In those days, any werewolf who was revealed to be unregistered after the age of seventeen was sentenced to lifetime imprisonment. The Ministry treated every full moon unaccounted for as a case for murder." 

Remus frowns, the words echoing unpleasantly in his head. It's more or less what MacNair had told him. Seems not much has changed in the past one hundred and fifty years.

"But Sprawl had the support of the public and he appealed his case, claiming the laws were overly severe for an unproven crime. His wife vouched for him under Veritaserum that he always transformed in a heavily warded field behind their house. He worked from prison to change the law, and today werewolves, while they must pass the full moon in the Ministry cells, are free to live their lives as they please during the month."

Remus' hand comes up to wrap around the tracker embedded in his arm.  _ Free _ . He'd never be free again. Everyone at the table is staring at him, waiting for his response. He knows they want him to be positive, to feel empowered, to say “let’s do it!” and fight the Ministry. But he just can’t bring himself to believe that anything will change; it’s just not realistic.

“I appreciate the effort you went through,” he says to Hermione. “I really do. I’m just not quite so optimistic the Ministry will view my case as favorably as this Mr Sprawl. I’m not on the Wizengamot, for one.”

“But you have a public platform,” says Sirius fiercely. “And you have the support of the public.”

“And say we fight,” Remus counters. “What are we asking for? For werewolves to not be registered at all? For the Ministry to give up control of Class A dangerous creatures? Can you really, genuinely, imagine that ever happening?”

“You’re fighting for better conditions,” Lily is practically shouting. “To be treated with the basest of human decency -”

“We’re not human!” Remus yells, cutting her off. His pulse is hammering through his body, blood boiling. "We're not human, to them. We're just animals, dogs to be caged. That's what you don't understand, none of you understand."

They're all staring at him, some with pity, others indignantly. His heart is frantic; he digs his fingernails into his thighs and the pain focuses him. 

"They don't see twenty nine days of regular, human activity,” he says quietly. “They see twelve hours of uncontrollable beast. They see infection, violence. That's all they care about, regardless of how much support I have. They don't actually care about character witnesses. None of it matters."

He looks down at his hands, shaking. He’s breathing hard, as though he’s just run laps around a Quidditch pitch. He wants to go home and hide, away from the stares, away from the pity. To cover himself in his heavy duvet for as long as he can, until the next moon can tear him away from this reality and into one much more simple.

“You’re wrong.” Sirius’ voice is quiet, but firm. Remus can’t look up at him.

“The Department for Control of Magical Creatures is just that: one department. The Wizengamot is made up of completely different people, from different departments, not even all of them from the Ministry.”

“I know who works with MacNair,” James cuts in. “They’re the lowest of the low, thugs hired for their muscle and affinity for violence. Not everyone is like them.”

Remus closes his eyes. He thinks of Sirius, confiding in him about his history of abuse. How scared he was to accept help. Remus knows he’s being stubborn, and he also knows he’s sitting at a table full of equally stubborn Gryffindors. He breathes out sharply through his nose, then nods.

“Okay,” he whispers, hands clenched into fists. He opens his eyes and looks at Sirius; he’s smiling nervously. Remus nods again.

“Fine,” he says, a little louder.

Everyone is smiling now, and James whoops loudly from the head of the table. Tonks squeezes Remus’ shoulder, beaming.

“ _ But _ ,” Remus says firmly, cutting through the celebratory clapping. “I’m not doing any bloody research. I’m going to open my shop, go to work, and go home. I’ll saw what you want me to say when the time comes, but I’m not going to spend my time reading about werewolf rights from the past five hundred years.”

A round of nodding circles the table. Hermione looks positively ecstatic at the idea of researching five hundred years of werewolf rights.

“Pudding?” Lily stands up and begins collecting plates. Alice joins in, and Remus feels the tightness in his chest recede as everyone busies themselves with things other than  _ him _ .

He hauls himself to his feet, slightly unsteadily. Sirius touches his elbow and Remus forces a smile at him.

“Just need a bit of a breather,” he says, not waiting for a response before snatching his wine glass and heading out of the room.

He shuts the front door gently behind him. The cold air bites through the thin knit of his jumper, but he relishes it after the unbearably suffocating atmosphere inside. He tightens his grip on his glass to try to ease the trembling of his hands.

He’d kill for a cigarette. He’d quit smoking regularly years ago, in a vain attempt to be healthier when he entered his thirties. But every now and then a situation arises that calls for a cigarette. And if being ambushed into talking about the Ministry’s werewolf legislations by a room full of painfully earnest people isn’t one of those situations, then he doesn’t know what is. Unfortunately, he’s left his emergency stash at home, safely tucked away in the drawer of his bedside table. So he’s stuck with wine.

Remus drains his glass, staring absently at the house across the street. A Christmas tree glitters in the window, and every now and then a child rushes past, face flushed with excitement. Remus smiles bitterly. What he wouldn’t give for the carefree joy of an unburdened life. He wonders if he was ever as happy as that child, in the brief life he had before the bite took all that away from him.

He frowns into his wine glass. It seems he’s passed over to the mopey side of drunkenness.

Something glints in the corner of Remus’ vision and he straightens up, skin prickling.

There. He sees it. A man stands on the street corner, eyes shining yellow through the shadows cast from the street lamps. They’re fixed on Remus. The man does not move even as Remus stares, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run. Something about the man fills him with an innate fear, stomach twisting painfully.

His feet are moving of their own accord, he’s stepping off the porch towards the man, who smiles. His sharp teeth flash in the moonlight and terror grips Remus’ heart as he continues to stride forward.

“My son,” the man says, voice coarse and low, almost a growl. The words send goosebumps erupting over Remus’ body and he feels quite sick. The man reaches up, fingernails like claws, long and sharp and filthy. Remus feels them cut through his cheek, stinging sharply.

“I’ve waited so long to meet you,” says the man, eyes gleaming through the filth caking his face.

“Remus?” It’s Sirius. His voice is a thousand miles away. The man - the  _ werewolf _ , Remus knows - lowers his hand.

“I will come for you, my son,” he says. “Your place is not with them.”

He Disapparates and Remus falls to his knees. His head is spinning, the cut on his cheek burning intensely. He screws his eyes shut against the wave of nausea that rushes over him. He can hear footsteps rushing toward him.

“Remus!” Sirius kneels next to him, hand coming up to inspect his wound. “Who was that? What happened? Are you okay?” He pulls out his want to heal his cheek, frowning when it doesn’t work.

Remus shakes his head, reaching up to grip Sirius’ jacket.

“He’s a werewolf,” Remus whispers. “A - he said - he called me -” his voice catches and breaks and he pulls Sirius close, shivering uncontrollably.

Sirius strokes his back soothingly until the trembling subsides and Remus can feel a chill settle over his body.

“Let’s get you inside,” Sirius says, helping Remus to his feet and leading him back to the house.

“Wait, Sirius,” Remus grabs the sleeve of Sirius’ jacket. Sirius turns to him, eyebrow raised.

“I...I think he…” Remus swallows, willing the lump in his throat away. “I think he was the one who...bit me.”

Sirius’ eyes widen and his hand squeezes’ Remus’ arm. “How do you know?

“He called - he...he called me ‘my son’.” Remus’ voice is tight, he can’t meet Sirius’ intense gaze. “He said he’s been waiting to meet me. That he’ll...come back for me.”

Sirius’ grip tightens. “We have to tell James,” he says.

“No!” Remus says quickly. “No, it’s - I can handle it.”

“Remus,” Sirius’ tone is firm. “He’s dangerous.”

“Why, because he's a werewolf?” Remus bristles, wrenching his arm from Sirius’ fingers. “I can handle it,” he repeats.

Sirius opens his mouth to speak, thinks better of it, and shuts it again. Remus can see the emotions flickering over his face, frustration, anger, worry. Sirius sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes, and opens the door for Remus. But as Remus goes to pass him, Sirius blocks his way with his arm.

“You know I just don’t want you to get hurt?” he says, voice quiet.

Remus looks up at him. His brow is furrowed with concern. Remus feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach.

“I know,” Remus says.

“I don’t think you  _ can’t _ handle these things yourself - ”

“I know.” Remus feels very small.

“ - there’s just been so much shit lately - ”

“I know.”

“ - I know you get annoyed at me worrying, but - “

Remus covers Sirius’ mouth with his hand.

“I’m not annoyed,” he says. Sirius raises his eyebrows.

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Remus insists. “It’s just all new, okay? Everything that’s happening. Sometimes I need to deal with it my way.”

He slowly lowers his hand, and Sirius immediately opens his mouth. Remus covers it again.

“Yes, even if my way is moping and being pathetic and eating a shitload of chocolate. Okay?”

He waits until Sirius’ eyes crinkle with a smile and he nods before lowering his hand again. Remus rises on his toes to kiss Sirius soundly. Sirius wraps his arms around Remus’ waist and Remus feels a shiver spread throughout his body. His heart is pounding in his chest, but not with anxiety. Remus’ hands cup Sirius’ face, thumbs brushing over the stubble on his sharp jawline.

He pulls back and looks up at Sirius; grey eyes glinting silver in the moonlight, lips red and soft and smiling. It’s rising up from his sternum, through his throat, tickling his tongue.  _ I love you _ .

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispers instead. 

An odd expression passes over Sirius’ face for an instant before it’s gone behind his dimple and grin.

“Come on,” he says, kissing Remus’ forehead and pushing the door open. “Before James yells at us that the pudding’s gone cold.”

The warmth coming from the house is nothing to the feel of Sirius’ hand on his back, the burning of Sirius’ lips on his skin. Remus smiles and slips his hand into Sirius’, squeezing tightly.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for introducing everyone's least favourite werewolf...I promise with all my heart to live up to the "angst with a happy ending" tag! Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos, it means a lot! <3


	8. Chapter 8

Remus sits on the floor in the back room of his shop, surrounded by piles of post. He's sorting through it methodically and has three separate bags so far. An overflowing sack of "supportive but unhelpful", a medium sized "potentially useful information", and an unfortunately large "we hope you die werewolf scum". 

He'd been ready to open up the shop right after Christmas. Sirius, with the help of Lily's calming, logical influence, had managed to convince Remus to wait until the new year to open. Sirius had been adamant that Remus should only open after the next full moon, but Remus had flat out refused; it would mean missing a week and half of Hogwarts students being back in the castle, looking for new books for second term courses. It was already bad enough he'd missed the Christmas rush. 

Remus would never admit it to Sirius, but having a few days to sort out the mess that had accumulated in his absence was probably a good idea. He needed to get back up to speed, look over the advance copies he'd been sent in the past month, and place orders for new books that were released. 

Not to mention the post. The letters had begun to spill out of the back room into the floor of the shop. He'd enlisted Harry and Hermione's help in sorting them out. They'd spent a largely enjoyable afternoon working through the vast majority; every now and then the mood was marred by yet another death threat claiming "I know where you live". James had placed extra strength wards on the building after one particularly chillingly detailed letter had been accompanied by photos of Remus through the windows of his flat. 

Remus sighs and leans back against the wall, slowly and painfully unfurling his crossed legs. A cold cup of tea lies forgotten by his hand and he frowns. He could just cast a reheating charm, but that always leaves a filmy skin over the tea. He's only got about twenty letters left, but he really needs another dose of caffeine to be able to get through them. 

He reaches for the edge of the table next to him and pulls himself up. 

"Ow, fucking fuck," he hisses as a stabbing pain shoots through his hip. 

He limps over to the small kitchenette in the corner. He keeps it stocked mostly with tea and biscuits to get him through the workday, but now it seems to be little worse for wear. There's one lone jammy dodger lying in an open packet, crumbs trailing over the counter, and zero teabags. 

"Fucking really?" Remus mutters angrily, checking both cabinets twice just to make sure that yes, all the tea is gone and he now has to go up to his flat to get more. He considers Summoning tea from upstairs, then remembers he left the door shut behind him when he came down. 

"Buggering fuck," he groans. 

Remus makes his way into the shop and is just about to start climbing the stairs when the front door bangs open and Sirius enters, back from his run. 

Sirius is breathing heavily, face red and dripping sweat. His hair is thrown up in a bun and he's wearing leggings so tight they really should be considered indecent to wear outdoors. He strides over to Remus, smiling widely.

"Hey! You finished already?" 

"Nearly," Remus responds, leaning away from Sirius' sweaty hug. "Just need caffeine for the final stretch." 

"Want me to help?" Sirius asks, following Remus up the stairs. 

"No, you put everything in the 'helpful' pile." 

“You don’t know what could end up being helpful!”

“I’m pretty sure that the Wizengamot will not be interested to hear that the sex Eloise from Bath has with her werewolf lover is the most passionate she’s ever had.”

Remus can hear the smirk in Sirius’ voice. “I can vouch for that assessment.”

Remus opens the door to the flat and rolls his eyes at Sirius as he passes. “Regardless, I can’t imagine how it could possibly help my case.”

Sirius turns and places his hands on Remus’ shoulders, face grave.

“Remus,” he says, “just imagine the _injustice_ of leaving the partners of werewolves without day-before-full-moon sex by making werewolves stay at the Ministry.”

A grin tugs at the corner of Remus’ lips.

“A true tragedy,” he says, removing Sirius’ hands from his shoulders and walking past him to the kitchen.

“You laugh, Mr Moony,” Sirius says, peeling off his sweaty shirt and waving it towards the laundry basket with his wand, “but I seem to recall that it was _you_ who initiated the day-before-the-full-moon booty call.”

“I didn’t say I deny it,” Remus replies, rummaging in the cupboard for a bag of English Breakfast. “Just that it’s not pertinent to the case.”

Remus smells the sharp scent of sweat before he feels Sirius sidle up behind him, hands gripping Remus’ waist. Sirius dips his head and presses a kiss under Remus’ ear. His hair tickles Remus’ shoulder and Remus shivers.

“I believe it’s pertinent to _my_ case,” Sirius whispers, hands sliding to the front of Remus’ trousers.

Remus’ eyes flutter shut as Sirius bites gently at his neck. “You’re too sweaty to have a case,” he says, without any real conviction.

“How about this,” Sirius murmurs, deftly unbuttoning Remus’ jeans with one hand. “I make you just as sweaty as me, then we both go shower.”

“Mmm…”

It’s all Remus can really manage, now that Sirius has his hand down his pants. Sirius is pressing into him, rolling his hips with every stroke. He reaches his other hand up to Remus’ jaw, turning Remus’ head to capture his lips in a kiss. Remus moans and twitches in Sirius’ grip as his thumb runs over the tip of his cock. 

A sharp tapping at the window makes them both jump, Sirius stepping back from Remus instinctively, like a teenager caught shagging in an empty classroom. A handsome tawny barn owl is waiting by the window, yellow eyes looking suspiciously judgmental, as though it knows what they were doing.

“That’s James’ owl,” Sirius says, frowning and stepping forward to crack the window open. He takes the letter and shuts the window on the affronted looking owl.

“What’s it say?” Remus asks, only slightly interested. He’s much more interested in Sirius’ sweaty torso and the bulge poking out from his too-tight leggings.

Sirius’ eyes widen and a smile breaks out over his face that makes Remus’ pulse jump in his throat. He looks up at Remus and holds out the letter for him to read. Remus frowns as he takes it. When he reads the messily scrawled note, his legs nearly give out.

_Rita Skeeter arrested. I’ll come in the evening, explain everything. Don’t talk to any reporters!_

_\- James_

“What?” Remus breathes, fingers numb. “How?”

“I fucking knew it!” Sirius is absolutely beaming, dimple creasing his cheek. “I knew he’d get that worthless piece of shit!”

He grabs Remus and pulls him close, kissing him deeply. Remus' mind is spiraling into overdrive. How did they catch her? What did they catch her doing? As far as Remus is aware, being a horrible human being is not an arrestable offence.

Sirius pulls away, looking into Remus' eyes. 

"Sorry," Remus says automatically. "I just…" 

"It's okay," Sirius says, kissing Remus' nose. "I'll go shower. But you should be _happy,_ Remus. Not wallowy." 

"I am happy!" Remus insists. "Just - how? What did she do?" 

"She's been invading people's personal lives for years," Sirius says, stripping off his leggings. He is still hard, and Remus feels a flare of desire in the pit of his stomach. "Maybe the Ministry passed a new law that you can't be a horrible nosy arsehole."

"I doubt it," Remus says, smiling at the thought. His eyes travel down Sirius' body as Sirius walks over to the bathroom. He can swear he's swaying his hips on purpose. 

"Oh for fuck's - get over here." 

\---

Remus sits at the table, poring over order forms from various publishers. Most of what’s been released for the holiday season is complete faff, but popular faff nonetheless, and he orders as generously as he can afford to. The forms are long and tedious, with ridiculously small print that’s beginning to swim on the roll of parchment in front of him. He pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut for a moment.

“Maybe you need reading glasses,” Sirius quips from his spot on the sofa, where he’s flipping through January’s edition of The Quidditch Reporter.

Remus breathes heavily through his nose. “I do _not_ need reading glasses.”

“You’re getting to that age -”

“You’re older than me.”

“ - where things start deteriorating. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Moony.”

Remus turns in his chair to glare at Sirius. Sirius is peering at him over the top of his magazine, eyes sparkling with amusement. Remus flicks a small banishing charm at the magazine and laughs when it smacks Sirius in the face.

“Hey!” Sirius exclaims, tossing the magazine aside and rubbing his red nose.

Remus turns back to his forms, smirking. “That’s what you get for saying I’m _deteriorating_.”

“You know I say it with love,” Sirius says easily, stretching his arms overhead and yawning. Remus feels himself flushing at Sirius’ choice of words and busies himself with the order form, hoping Sirius doesn’t notice.

A flash of green from the fireplace distracts them both and James steps through, brushing soot from his Auror robes.

“Hiya,” he greets them cheerfully.

“James!” Sirius is flopped backwards on the arm of the sofa and peering at James upside down. “Tell Remus there is no shame in needing reading glasses.”

“You’re getting reading glasses?” James asks Remus with genuine interest.

“No!” Remus huffs angrily. “For Merlin’s sake, Sirius, stop being so dramatic.”

Sirius gasps loudly. “ _Me?_ Dramatic? The gall!” He appears to be sliding slowly off the sofa, headfirst.

“I have a great optometrist,” James says enthusiastically. “I must have his card here somewhere.” He begins patting down his robes, sticking his arms elbow deep into the pockets.

“I’m not - I don’t need -” 

“I think you’d look very sexy with glasses,” Sirius says, reaching his arms down to the floor, kicking his legs up over his head and somehow landing in a crouch. He straightens up and walks over to Remus, putting an arm around his shoulders. “What d’you think, Jamie?”

“Aha! Here!” James pulls out a small purple business card from one of his pockets and hands it to Remus. “He’s been with the family since I was a kid. Tell him I sent you and he’ll give you a discount.”

“I - thanks,” Remus admits defeat and pockets the card. “Tea?”

“Cheers,” James smiles and sits at the table with Sirius. Remus escapes to the kitchen, heating the kettle with his wand and pulling out three mugs for tea. His mind wanders as he goes through the familiar motions, wondering what James is going to say, if this means the end of intrusive journalists poking into his life. If the _Prophet_ will renounce all the hurtful, biased, and generally awful things Skeeter has written for them. He snorts in disdain at the thought. Ridiculous.

He levitates the steaming mugs over to the table, setting a sugar bowl down in the middle.

“Thanks,” James says, scooping four heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his tea. It makes Remus’ molars hurt just looking at it.

“So what happened?” Sirius asks. “How’d you get her?”

James leans back in his seat, looking very smug. “Stroke of genius, it was.”

“If you say so yourself,” Sirius grins.

“And I do.” James takes a long sip of tea, obviously enjoying leaving Sirius and Remus in suspense.

“Remember how I said I’d try to trail her, from the very beginning?” James says, and they nod. “Well we couldn’t do much, without a warrant. We intercepted her here and there, made her miss appointments and such. We set up wards around your parents’ house, Remus. But other than that basic sort of prevention, we didn’t have much to go on.

“But then she exposed you, and it was obvious she’d been spying somehow. Illegally. You’d kept it a secret for so long, there’s no way you’d slip up somehow in public.”

Remus’ stomach tightens sharply as he relives the memories. Being found out, exposed, humiliated. Tortured. He bites his lip hard, fingers clenched tight against his mug. Sirius reaches over and takes his hand, smiling reassuringly. Remus can’t smile back.

“I got a warrant,” James continues. “We got permission to use Tracking Charms on Skeeter to try and find her source. Thing was, every so often she’d just...disappear from the charms. Completely gone, no way to find her. We started trailing her physically, to see what was happening when she vanished. It took a while to catch her out, but we found it.”

He pauses for dramatic effect and Sirius huffs impatiently. “Get on with it, Potter!”

“She an Animagus,” James says triumphantly. “An illegal one. We saw her transform - mind you it was hard, it looked like she’d just disappeared into thin air - checked the Animagus Registry, saw she wasn’t registered.”

Remus is frowning, confused. “What kind of animal? I think I’d remember seeing a random dog hanging around the house.”

James leans forward, grinning fiendishly. “A beetle. Small, unassuming, can crawl into tight spaces. No one would notice.”

Remus looks at Sirius, identical looks of horror on their faces.

“The beetle -”

“ - in your hair - ”

“ - that was fucking _her_ \- ” 

“ - you almost killed her - ” 

“I fucking should have!” Sirius is on his feet, eyes blazing, angry red splotches colouring his cheeks. “What happens to her now, James?”

“Usually with illegal Animagi, they have the power revoked and blocked,” James says.

Sirius is nearly shouting now. “That’s it? That’s _it?_ That bitch ruined countless lives, she’s trespassed who know’s how many times, and all she gets is to not be able to turn into a fucking beetle again?”

James frowns sympathetically. “There will be a hearing, of sorts,” he says. “Not too sure what happens there. Maybe she will get some sort of punishment.”

“We can go,” Sirius says immediately, looking at Remus. “We can speak against her, we can -”

“No.” Remus’ voice is quiet but firm. “We’re not doing anything, Sirius.”

“Remus,” Sirius sits down again and takes Remus’ hand. “She’s the _reason_ all this is happening. It’s because of her that -”

“I know,” Remus cuts him off, squeezing his hand. “I just - it’s enough, for me. That people know what she did, that they take it away from her.” He swallows, looks down at the table. “That she never does it to anyone else again.”

He looks up at Sirius. Sirius’ eyes are wide and staring at him so intensely he almost looks away again. Sirius nods, a smile breaking out over his face.

“You’re incredible,” he says softly, and Remus’ cheeks burn.

“Is the _Prophet_ going to keep this quiet?” he asks James, who is looking between them with amusement, sipping his tea.

“I don’t think so,” James shrugs. “It’s far too juicy to keep quiet. And she’s made a lot of enemies over the years, someone will definitely write something.”

“Good,” Remus says coldly, setting down his mug. “Can’t wait to see what people have to say about her.”

“They’re going to want to talk to you, Remus,” says James, voice dropping into Auror mode. “Reporters. Given you’re - in a way - the reason she was caught.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Remus says quickly, heart beating fast.

“I know,” James says, and he hesitates before continuing. “But, maybe, I think it might be worth it for you - for your case, that is - to make some sort of statement.”

Remus looks incredulously at Sirius, but he’s nodding thoughtfully.

“You can’t be serious,” Remus says to James. “Disgraced werewolf talking about the injustices of journalism?”

“Partner of Britain’s favourite Quidditch player speaks out against discrimination spread by fraud Rita Skeeter,” James says, and he doesn’t appear to be joking at all. “I guarantee you’ll garner more sympathy. More support.”

Remus opens and closes his mouth several times, but it is at a loss for words. He’s trying to figure out how to explain just _how_ bad an idea it is when Sirius speaks.

“You said, Moony. You said ‘I’ll say what you want me to say when the time comes’.” Sirius sounds irritatingly smug and Remus glares at him.

“I meant at the trial!”

“You didn’t say that. ‘When the time comes’ is all you said. Isn’t that right, James?”

“That’s right, Sirius.”

A bubble of anxiety is rising in his chest and Remus feels a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“You know how bad I am at speaking,” he says to Sirius. “I’d be absolutely incoherent. No one wants to listen to me.”

“It doesn’t have to be a formal interview,” James interjects. “More like...a casual conversation.”

“A casual conversation that will be recorded and published.”

“Exactly.”

Remus takes a deep, bracing breath. He knows there’s no arguing, especially when his only real argument is _I don’t want to_. And honestly, it probably won’t do any more harm than has already been caused. The worst that will happen is that Remus will be embarrassed more than he ever has been before and will have to move to Australia to escape.

“Fine,” he says, standing up and collecting the empty mugs. “I can tell when I’m outnumbered. I know how Lily feels now.”

“Except the cat hates you,” Sirius chips in, standing up to kiss Remus’ cheek happily.

“One of the many hazards of lycanthropy,” Remus says wryly, heading for the kitchen. “Thanks for rubbing it in.”

He can hear James promising to find a “normal” journalist to come interview Remus, and after a couple ideas are thrown around their conversation devolves into generic banter. Remus exhales loudly, resting his forehead against the cool kitchen window. _“I didn’t sign up to be the poster boy for werewolf rights”_ he remembers saying to Sirius, what feels like a hundred years ago. It’s all out of his control, every last decision slipping out of his hands into those of the people around him. 

His breath is fogging the window, blurring the figures of the people on the street into amorphous blobs. He wonders if they’re journalists, waiting for him to emerge. Or just last minute shoppers, hurrying home before the sun fully sets. The fog recedes and he sees him, standing in the alley between Honeydukes and Scrivenshaft’s. He’s looking directly at Remus, yellow eyes piercing.

Remus feels a tug in his gut, a faint ache in his chest. He wants to go down, wants to talk to this man, danger be damned. The man raises a hand and beckons to Remus.

Remus tears himself away from the window with surprising difficulty. He can feel him, eyes on the back of his neck. Can feel his magic pulling Remus out of the kitchen, through the living room, picking his coat up from the hook by the door.

“Remus?” Sirius is on his feet, frowning curiously.

“Just pop out for a bit,” Remus says, and his voice sounds odd and strangled. “We’ve run out of milk.”

“I can go -” Sirius begins but Remus cuts him off with a curt smile.

“No bother, I’ll be back in a minute.” He turns to James, shakes his hand briefly. The pulling in his chest is getting stronger, it’s hard to breathe. “Thanks for everything, James.”

He turns and is out the door, nearly flying down the stairs and out onto the street. He’s breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest. He looks to the alley but the man isn’t there. The street is deserted, in fact. Not a journalist or shopper in sight. Remus closes his eyes, lets the feeling rise in him, lets his feet lead him where he knows he needs to go.

He stands outside the Hog’s Head, nose wrinkled in distaste. Of course the werewolf would choose to meet here, the local haunt for all manner of Dark wizards and creatures alike. Remus pushes open the door and his eyes immediately lock onto the man, who is sitting in a corner booth with a pint of ale, grinning his sharp teeth at Remus.

Remus weaves his way through the mostly empty tables and sits, never removing his gaze from the man’s face. It’s littered with scars, even more so than Remus’. One cheek seems more hollow than the other, as if part of it has been gouged out. His hair is a matted brown grey, filthy like the rest of him. His smell fills Remus’ nostrils; coppery blood, pine forest, something rotted and something undeniably _wolf_.

“Who are you?” Remus asks hoarsely.

The man motions to the bartender, who immediately brings a pint for Remus. Remus doesn’t touch it.

“Who are you?” Remus repeats. “What do you want?”

“Oh, pup,” the man sighs. “What have they done to you? Do you not recognise your own father?”

“You’re not my father,” Remus says automatically, heart thudding in his throat.

“I made you who you are.”

“You made me _what_ I am,” Remus’ voice is a low growl.

The man smiles again, and his mouth seems to have a few too many teeth in it. 

“I am Fenrir Greyback,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “I have come to take you home.”

He watches Remus as he gulps at his ale. Remus tries to keep his face as blank as possible. A long moment stretches between them, tense and palpable.

“I have a home,” Remus says finally, raising his pint to sip slowly at the frothy ale.

Greyback sneers. “With the humans? Look at what they have done to you.”

He reaches out and snatches Remus by the wrist. His long fingernails graze Remus’ scars and Remus tries to suppress a shiver. Greyback’s eyes are blazing with anger. He pushes Remus’ hand away.

“You belong with the pack,” he says, and he leans forward so Remus can feel the fetid heat of his breath. “You don’t even know who you are.”

“Why now?” Remus snaps, patience frayed and nerves bubbling under his skin. “I’ve been a werewolf for thirty fucking years.”

“You were kept from me,” Greyback says, and something like sadness flickers in his eyes. “Kept from me for years, raised like one of _them_.” He spits out the word like poison.

“I _am_ one of them,” Remus says, fingers clenching into fists.

Greyback’s gaze lowers to Remus’ upper arm, where the tracker blinks slowly beneath his skin. When his eyes come back up to meet Remus’, Remus can feel his voice in his head, loud and clear as if it were his own thought.

_Are you?_

Remus’ pulse is hammering through his veins, he’s frozen in place, pinned by Greyback’s yellow eyes.

 _They will never know you,_ Greyback says in his mind. _They will never understand the beauty of the wolf, the magic of the full moon. They know only fear, only violence. They have taught that to you, forced you to fear yourself, shown you violence._

Remus feels a prickling in his eyes and looks away, down at his hands. They’re trembling. 

“I offer you freedom,” Greyback says aloud. “True freedom. The pack knows nothing but love. I will teach you who you are.”

A flare of anger rises in Remus. “And you offer this to every werewolf who gets caught, do you?”

Greyback chuckles as though Remus has told a joke. “You are my child,” he says. “You are mine.”

The anger boils out of him and shatters Greyback’s empty pint glass. Remus pushes himself to his feet. 

“I am not _yours_ . I am not _anyone’s_ . You don’t know who the _fuck_ I am.”

Greyback rises as well, eyes narrowed. “Neither do they, Remus Lupin. They, with their wooden sticks and funny words. They know nothing of your true power, _you_ know nothing of your true power.” He appraises Remus and shakes his head slowly. “You will be back. You will suffer at their hands and come searching for your family. And we will wait with open arms. A father will always wait for his child.”

Remus says nothing. He turns and stalks out of the pub, slamming the door behind him. He _feels_ Greyback Disapparate, feels the absence, and a choking sob escapes him. His stomach is roiling and sweat is beading down his back. 

_Look what they have done to you._

His hand comes up to clutch at the tracker in his arm. He closes his eyes and presses it, hard, until the sharp pain fades to numbness and his heart is a dull thud in his ears. He sucks in a sharp breath and heads for the small mini-mart on the street corner.

Remus walks straight to the refrigerated section in the back and grabs a bottle of milk, remembering his excuse to Sirius. He knows it’s weak, he knows Sirius will see right through it and immediately start interrogating him. Remus’ hands shake and he bites his lip hard, willing the tremors to stop before the milk slips and shatters on the pristine tile floor.

He picks up biscuits on his way to the register and smiles at the clerk, Gerald. He’s known Gerald for five years, ever since he and his wife Maxine moved into the village. They’ve always been on friendly terms; Gerald and Maxine have invited him over a few times for Sunday roast.

Gerald does nothing to hide the disgust in his eyes as he looks at Remus. Remus’ smile falters.

“Pack of fags, please,” Remus says to the counter. 

Gerald huffs with derision and throws a pack down so violently it bounces and falls on the floor. Remus feels his face burn as he bends down to pick it up.

“Fourteen fifty,” Gerald says to Remus, smirking at the flush on his cheeks.

Remus rummages in his pockets and hands over a Galleon. Gerald drops it in the till and closes it, turning to glare at Remus.

“My change?” Remus asks, wincing at the break in his voice.

Gerald doesn’t move, arms crossed and eyes venomous.

Remus doesn’t bother asking for a bag. He picks up his items and rushes from the store, feeling Gerald’s gaze on his back until he turns the corner. He doesn’t stop until he reaches his shop, almost dropping his keys in his haste to enter. He takes the stairs up to the flat two at a time, ignoring the throb in his hip, and when he bursts through the door Sirius stands up immediately from his spot on the sofa. He’s obviously been waiting.

“Remus, where have you been?” Sirius asks sharply.

Remus shrugs off his coat and lets it fall to the floor. The milk bottle slips from under his arm and Sirius lunges forward to catch it. He looks up at Remus, eyes wide with worry.

“I got biscuits,” Remus says, voice small.

He opens the pack of cigarettes, nearly dropping it too. The cigarette barely touches his lips before the end ignites on its own, making him jump.

“Remus, what’s happened?” Sirius sounds scared.

Remus inhales deeply, relishing the burn of the smoke in his throat. He walks over to the window and opens it, blowing out smoke into the cold night air. The tremble in his hands has calmed down slightly and he takes another long drag.

Sirius stands behind him, still holding the milk bottle. 

“Was it that man?” he asks quietly. “The werewolf?”

Remus nods, staring out over the village. There is a pause, then Sirius walks to the kitchen and Remus hears him put the milk in the fridge. By the time he returns, the cigarette is a small stub in Remus’ fingers and he flicks it out to the street below, exhaling the last drag through his nose.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happened?” Sirius asks, and he’s angry now.

Remus turns to him, slowly. His pulse is a slow pounding in his chest, calmed temporarily by the tobacco. Remus pulls out another cigarette, and this time he has to concentrate for a moment before the end lights.

“I met with him,” he says simply, smoke blurring Sirius’ face. “The man. The werewolf.” He echoes Sirius’ words and it sounds bitter and sharp.

Sirius says nothing but his eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He wanted to meet me,” Remus continues. “To offer me a place with them.”

Sirius’ jaw clenches and he breathes heavily through his nose. Remus sucks long and hard on the cigarette, burning it nearly all the way.

“Them?” Sirius says, eyes cold.

“His pack,” Remus shrugs. He turns to the window again, throwing his second stub out with the first.

“You don’t belong with _them_ ,” Sirius says firmly.

Remus gazes at him for a long moment. 

“That’s what he said about _you_.”

Sirius’ eyes widen and Remus can tell he’s hurt. Remus closes his eyes, head spinning. Greyback’s words are echoing through his mind, mingling with Gerald’s expression of hatred. _You don’t belong with them._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes still closed. “I didn’t mean to run off like that. I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Sirius agrees, but his voice is softer, less biting. He steps towards Remus and Remus cracks his eyes open, peering at Sirius through hooded lids.

“Did he hurt you?” Sirius asks. Remus shakes his head. Sirius touches Remus’ hand, curling his fingers into his palm.

“Do you want to go with them?”

Sirius’ eyes make Remus’ chest ache. Tears well up and spill out over Remus’ cheeks. He screws his eyes shut and shakes his head again as a gasping sob wracks his body. Sirius’ arms envelop him tightly and he presses his face to Sirius’ chest, overwhelmed.

“I don’t know what I’m meant to do,” Remus sobs, tears soaking through Sirius’ t-shirt.

“Nobody knows,” Sirius replies, hand stroking Remus’ hair. “We all make it up as we go along.”

“Gerald hates me,” Remus hiccups.

“Gerald?”

“From the shop. He threw fags at me.”

“Well then Gerald is a wanker and we won’t buy fags off him anymore.”

Remus raises his face to look at Sirius. Sirius is smiling but there’s still a trace of hurt in the line of his brow and the hardness of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. “I’m sorry you have to deal with my shit. I’m sorry I get angry.”

Sirius’ thumb trails over Remus’ cheekbone, brushing away tears.

“I don’t _have_ to,” he says. “I _want_ to. I want you, whether that’s happy you, or sad you, or angry you or anxious you.”

A fresh wave of tears fill Remus’ eyes at his words and he bites his lip, shaking his head.

“You deserve better than me. I’m broken. I’m not human.”

“Being human is overrated.” Sirius kisses his forehead. “Most of the humans I’ve met are tossers.”

Remus buries his face in Sirius’ shirt once more. _You don’t belong with them_ . But he’s wrong. Greyback’s wrong. He belongs with Sirius, he feels it in the way Sirius holds him, the way he kisses him, the way he’s embedded himself with such ease into Remus’ life, even the way he calls Remus _Moony_.

“I love you,” Remus whispers into Sirius’ shirt, so quietly he’s not sure Sirius can hear him. Sirius’ pulse is loud and fast and Remus feels it pound against him.

Sirius’ arms tighten around him.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks for all the wonderful comments! My country has shut down because of covid-19 and I am officially at home for the forseeable future. Hopefully that means lots of updates!  
> Once again, art by me :D check it out on Tumblr too https://darklordsaron.tumblr.com/
> 
> Stay healthy, everyone <3


	9. Chapter 9

Remus doesn’t sleep at all the night before he opens the shop. It doesn’t help that Sirius has gone back to his own flat, after close to three weeks of being together every day and night. His match against Wales is in just a couple of weeks, and training has started up again in earnest after the holiday period. The bed feels cold and empty without him, and Remus finds himself spending most of the night staring at his pillow.

When Remus finally drags himself out of bed an hour before opening, there’s a dull ache in his temples and behind his eyes. He brews himself a pot of strong coffee and attempts to eat some breakfast. The buttered toast tastes like cardboard and he gives it up for a couple of cigarettes and a slab of chocolate.

The coffee helps somewhat with the headache, but he can feel his anxiety rising with every step down into the shop. He doesn’t know what to expect. He hasn’t read any papers, doesn’t know what anyone in Hogsmeade thinks of him, aside from the wanker Gerald, and Sonya, who has come to visit a couple times in the past few days.

He’d considered changing the name of the shop. Wolf’s Tale had felt like a clever little play on words, when no one knew who he was. Now, it just feels ominous. But despite it all he’s too attached to the name, and decides to keep it.

He counts out the change in the till, the same change that he’d closed with over a month and a half ago. He swallows hard, biting his lip and shaking his head. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

The post situation has been dealt with, and his back room looks as it should, small kitchenette fully stocked with tea and biscuits (and a fag or two). He picks up the pamphlets he’s received from various publishers detailing the next wave of new releases and sets it behind the counter where he can peruse them when there’s no customers.

Nothing left to do but actually open the shop. He takes a deep breath, plasters a smile on his face, and undoes the darkening charms on the windows. There’s an alarming number of people gathered outside. Harry, Ron and Hermione are at the front of the crowd, and they wave cheerfully at him. Harry gives him a small thumbs up and Remus smiles genuinely. He unlocks the door and opens it, standing aside to let people pass. As they filter in, he notices it’s mostly students.

“Hey, Mr Lupin!” Harry greets him. “We’ve got our lists for the new courses this term.”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur as he helps all the students find the proper textbooks. Most of them don’t look at him any differently than normal, and he notices himself cheering up slightly as the day goes on. He’d known it was important to get the pre-term rush of students; by the time noon rolls around he’s almost out of N.E.W.T level Transfiguration books and the till is nice and full.

Sonya pops by with lunch once the rush has calmed down, picking up her _Daily Prophet_ and Witch Weekly by the door. The sight of it is so familiar and welcome that Remus feels a prickle of tears behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly and smiles at Sonya.

She smiles back brightly, _Prophet_ folded up under her arm. “Surviving?” she asks.

“Surviving,” Remus replies, ringing her up. “Lots of students.”

“Any hateful bigots?” She pulls a meat pie from a paper bag and hands it to him.

Remus laughs. “Not so far, surprisingly. Cheers.” He puts the pie aside. His stomach is still in knots, appetite nonexistent.

“You need to eat, Remus,” Sonya says as she perches on the stool next to him and digs into her own pie. “You look peaky.”

“Thanks very much.”

She leans closer and sniffs at him, wrinkling her nose. “Have you started smoking?”

Remus flushes. “I’m stressed, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, unconvinced. “As long as you don’t substitute fags for proper meals.”

Remus nods in agreement, choosing to not mention that he’d done exactly that both this morning and last night.

“You know,” Sonya says, mouth full of mince. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sirius had put some sort of anti-hate-crime jinx on the shop.”

“I -” Remus hesitates, biting his lip. “No, that wouldn’t surprise me, either.”

“It’s good! You don’t have to deal with that shit.”

“But then I won’t know who actually hates me,” Remus says, watching people passing on the street, each one looking into the shop curiously before continuing on.

“No one hates you, Remus,” Sonya rolls her eyes. “I’ve asked.”

“Did you ask Gerald?” Remus says before he can stop himself.

“Gerald’s a horrible old racist.”

“What? Since when?”

Sonya looks at him as if he’s gone crazy. “Since he disowned his daughter for marrying a black guy.”

“What?!” Remus is genuinely shocked. “I didn’t know he even had a daughter.”

“Yeah, because she was erased from the family tree in disgrace.”

Remus drops his face into his hands. “Fucking hell. I had no idea.”

“So who cares what he says,” Sonya says firmly, patting Remus’ back. “Now eat your pie before it goes cold.”

Slightly uplifted, Remus manages to eat half his pie before another wave of customers enters and he’s forced to his feet again to go help.

Halfway through the afternoon, a young man with sandy blonde hair and a face full of freckles walks into the shop and straight for Remus, hand outstretched.

“Mr Lupin, good to meet you!” he says.

Remus grabs his hand warily, confused. “Er, hello. Remus is fine. And you are?”

“Sean Cooper!” His smile doesn’t falter. “Didn’t James tell you I’d be coming?”

Shit. The journalist. The journalist hired to have a “casual conversation” with Remus.

“Right, sorry,” Remus apologises. “Busy day.”

“I can see that,” Sean says, looking around the shop happily. “You don’t mind if I use my Quick Quotes Quill, do you?” 

“That’s fine,” Remus says, eyeing the bright green quill with distrust. Sean grins and sucks on the end of the quill, then places it on a roll of parchment levitating beside him.

“I’ll just walk around the shop first, if that’s alright,” Sean says. “Get a feel for the place. Maybe talk to some customers.”

“Okay.” The knot in Remus’ stomach has returned twofold. 

“Just pretend like I’m not here.”

“Sure.”

Remus rings up a couple of customers, trying his best to ignore Sean wandering the aisles of the shop, muttering to his quill. He’s filled two rolls of parchment and he hasn’t even talked to Remus yet. When the shop is empty once more, Sean turns to Remus and Remus swallows, throat tight.

“So, Remus,” Sean says conversationally. “How do you feel after Rita Skeeter’s arrest?”

Remus’s heart is beating loudly in his ears. Straight to the point, then.

“Relieved,” he says honestly.

“Are you going to press charges? She did trespass on your property.”

“No.”

Sean looks surprised at that. “Why not?”

_Because no one will listen to a werewolf._

“I haven’t got time to think about it, really,” Remus shrugs.

“Because of your upcoming trial?”

Remus clenches his hands into fists to stop the trembling. “Amongst other things.”

Sean reaches for his quill and sucks on the nib once more before continuing.

“How are you feeling about your trial?”

“Unenthusiastic.”

Sean pauses for a moment, as though he’s thinking about how to formulate his next question. “Do you believe the legislations against werewolves in this country are unjust?”

“I do.”

“And why is that?”

Remus doesn’t want to explain himself. He doesn’t want to sit here talking to this smiling young man about what the Ministry puts werewolves through. He resents James and Sirius for forcing this on him. But he’s here, staring at Remus earnestly, and Remus can _just_ see James sending him back if Remus refuses to speak.

He points his wand at the door and flicks the “OPEN” sign to read “BE BACK SOON”. _Colloportus_ and the lock slides into place. Sean’s face is eager and excited and Remus wants to slap him.

“It’s torture,” he says to Sean. “Plain and simple. Do you know what happens to a werewolf who comes in contact with silver?” Sean shakes his head and Remus pulls back his sleeves to reveal the thick gnarled scars circling his wrists. “They kept me in silver shackles for days. It ate away at me down to the bone. I got no treatment for it until James Potter, the Head Auror, insisted a Healer come and see me. That was only a week later.”

Sean’s quill is in overdrive, moving so fast across the parchment it’s nearly a blur.

“I was refused counsel,” Remus continues. “Refused contact with anyone, except for James who had to fight for a week to get permission to come and see me for ten minutes. They kept me in a small cell with no natural light and little food for nearly a month. Does that sound like just treatment to you?”

He stops, voice trembling, and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. Once the racing of his heart has subsided slightly he turns back to Sean.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Sean says softly. “What was the full moon like, in the Ministry cells?”

Remus inhales deeply. “Small cell, barely two metres wide. Concrete and silver. As a wolf…” he hesitates, shaking his head against the doubt creeping into his mind. “As a wolf I have no control, that much is true. But the wolf also doesn’t understand the cell, doesn’t know where it is, tries to escape. I bashed myself against the walls all night. I was unconscious with internal injuries for four days after the full moon.”

Sean’s eyes widen. “And how long are you normally unconscious for, after a full moon?”

“An hour, maybe two.” Remus shrugs. “I always open the shop up the following morning.”

“Wow,” Sean breathes. He looks at what the quill has written and nods. “Have you faced any discrimination from other residents of Hogsmeade?”

Gerald’s face flashes in Remus’ mind. “A bit.”

“Do you think it will affect your business?”

“I don’t know, yet. I hope not.”

Sean smiles kindly. He holds out a hand to Remus. “Thank you so much for your time, Remus.”

“That’s it?” Remus blinks in surprise.

“I’d like to get a photographer in here, if you don’t mind,” Sean says. “Get some good, clear shots for the editorial.”

“Now?”

Sean shakes his head. “In a few days, whenever you’re available to close the shop for an hour or so.”

“Okay,” Remus agrees slowly. “When will this be published?”

Sean is pulling his quill from the parchment and blowing the ink dry. “Next week. I’ll send you an advance copy on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday is the full moon.”

There’s pity in Sean’s smile and Remus feels a spark of annoyance flash through him.

“I’ll try to have it ready by Tuesday, then.” Sean packs up his quill and parchment. “I’ll owl you to set up a time for a photographer, alright?”

“Sure.”

Remus unlocks the door; there are a couple of customers waiting impatiently. Sean nods and smiles and is out the door and Remus lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

An old woman coughs loudly, her nose wrinkled. “Young man, have you been _smoking_ in here?”

\---

Remus misses Sirius more with every day that passes. They have the mirrors, and talk as often as possible, but Sirius has returned to his Quidditch schedule and doesn’t have much time to spare. Remus hadn’t truly realised just how comfortable he’d gotten with having Sirius around every day. Sirius doing his home workout sets every morning in his impossibly tight leggings, lazy afternoons curled up on the sofa or in bed. Remus feels his absence like a dull ache in his stomach.

But when Sean and the photographer come round a few days after the interview, Remus is grateful for once that Sirius is not there. He can just imagine the look on Sirius’ face at the way the photographer poses him, prods him to smile more, makes him roll up his sleeves so they can see his scars. A crowd gathers outside the shop windows and Remus definitely reconsiders his “move to Australia” plan.

On Sunday evening, Remus is sitting on the sofa sipping tea when Sirius calls. Remus pops open the mirror and smirks. Sirius is in the locker rooms after a vigorous training session. His face is bright red and sweat is dripping down his chest.

“You just couldn’t wait ‘til after the shower, could you?” Remus teases, not at all bothered by Sirius’ state of undress.

Sirius winks and puckers his lips in a kiss. “You love it.”

Remus hums into his teacup. “I do.”

“I’ve had an idea,” Sirius says.

“Pray tell.”

“Come over tomorrow.”

“To your flat?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “No, to the Quidditch pitch. Yes, to my flat.”

“Why?”

“You have to be at the Ministry anyway on Tuesday,” Sirius reasons. “It’s in London, I’m in London.”

“I - okay.” 

Sirius beams and Remus longs to touch him. 

“I’ll come by after I close up,” he says, already looking forward to closing the shop tomorrow. He’s dreading having to report to the Ministry, but at least he now has seeing Sirius to soften the blow.

“Great!” Sirius grins. “We’ll get takeaway. There is the _best_ Chinese down the street.”

“Sounds good,” Remus says. He leans close to the mirror, biting his lip. “I miss you,” he whispers, hating the flush that rises in his cheeks.

“Me too,” Sirius says softly. “You’ll come tomorrow, though. We’ll have tomorrow.”

His eyes flicker past the mirror and he frowns then shouts, “OI! Leave my shit alone!”

He moves and the mirror shakes erratically before landing on his mouth, close up. “I’ll talk to you later, Remus. Have to get rid of these WANKERS WHO THINK THEY’RE FUNNY!”

Remus laughs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sirius kisses the mirror, snaps it shut, and Remus is left looking at himself. The smile slides from his face.

\---

By closing time the next day, Remus has a pounding migraine. There was a slew of rude, judgmental customers one after the other. He ran out completely of all N.E.W.T level textbooks, and every time a student came by to purchase one he had to fill out the overly complicated order form. A shelf in the erotica section collapsed for no apparent reason, knocking over his carefully arranged display of signed copies of _Crossed Wands_. And on top of all that, his hip is so stiff and painful even the cane isn’t helping much.

He shuts the door at precisely seven o’clock, ignoring the group of teens who are obviously approaching his store. He cast the darkening charm on the windows just as they wave and signal to him that they want to enter.

Nope. He’s done for the day.

The migraine pulses in his temples as he counts out the day’s change. Each day since the reopening has been far more successful than he’d expected, and it ignites in him a small glimmer of hope that perhaps not everything is falling to shit. He drops the earnings into a bag and stuffs it in the safe under the counter. His hip argues profusely at his bending over.

He groans as he straightens up, grabbing his cane and limping over to the stairs. He waves his hand vaguely at the lights and they shut off. He’s found himself performing more and more wordless and wandless magic since his encounter with Greyback, as though he’s trying to test his own limits. He could attribute it to the waxing moon, but he can’t help but think over Greyback’s words almost obsessively: _You don’t know your true power._

He enters his flat and picks up the bag he’s packed that morning in anticipation of Flooing over to Sirius’. He double checks that he's locked all the doors and turned off all the lights, then steps into the fireplace.

Sirius is waiting, standing by the fireplace. His eyes light up when Remus emerges, and Remus steps forward and grabs him in a fierce kiss, bag and cane dropping to the floor. When he pulls back, Sirius is flushed.

“Hello to you too,” Sirius says breathlessly, leaning down for another kiss.

Remus melts against him, letting the scent of leather and citrus and _Sirius_ wash over him. Sirius’ hands are slipping off Remus’ coat, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy _thump_. Remus can’t bring himself to care about the mistreatment of his clothes. He bites at Sirius’ lower lip and feels Sirius grin, feels the dimple crease his cheek. Remus wraps his arms around Sirius’ neck, rising on his toes to have a better angle against Sirius’ mouth.

It’s been a week and a half but it feels like months since he last touched Sirius, last felt the heat of their bodies pressed together. _Is that what love is?_ He wonders vaguely. The feeling that you can never get enough, the feeling of constant need and want and _fuck_ Remus is moaning loudly into Sirius’ mouth. 

Sirius is cupping his ass, squeezing through Remus’ jeans. Remus’ legs are trembling with the effort of keeping him on his toes and he drops. He looks up at Sirius and the flare of desire in Sirius’ eyes shoots straight to the base of Remus’ spine.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Remus whispers, thumb tracing Sirius’ swollen lips.

Sirius brings both his hands up to frame Remus’ face. He leans down slowly, eyes fluttering shut, and kisses Remus deeply. Remus threads his fingers through Sirius’ hair, pulling him even closer.

When they break apart, Remus feels dizzy. 

“I missed you every day,” Sirius says, fingers brushing the stubble on Remus’ jaw.

“We’re disgusting,” Remus laughs.

“I’m okay with it,” Sirius breathes as Remus licks a line down his neck.

Remus reaches down to grab Sirius’ erection through the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms. Sirius moans and jerks his hips for more friction.

“Shall we -” Sirius gasps when Remus slides his hand underneath his pants. “- bed? Bedroom?”

Remus mumbles incoherently, hand stroking Sirius’ heavy cock, mouth sucking at his throat. Sirius shifts, Remus feels his hands slide down his body, then he’s lifting Remus up, one arm hooked under his knees. 

Remus yelps in surprise. “Make me feel like a bloody damsel in distress,” he says, arms looped around Sirius’ shoulders as Sirius carries him to the bedroom. Remus can feel Sirius hard against his hip.

“Sorry,” Sirius says, grinning. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Remus bites Sirius’ ear.

Sirius all but tosses Remus onto the bed; Remus bounces as he lands, laughing and propping himself up on his elbows. Sirius is peeling off his shirt and Remus’ mouth has gone very dry. The dark trail of hair leading from Sirius’ navel down to the very distinct outline of his dick in sweatpants makes Remus’ heart race. The muscles in his stomach ripple as he pulls his shirt overhead and tosses it to the side.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” Remus blurts out.

Sirius smirks, and Remus wants to bite him.

“I told you,” Sirius says, crawling onto the bed towards Remus. “Chicken breasts, broccoli, and working out at stupid hours. You could do it, too.”

Remus laughs and reaches to pull Sirius close. “I really couldn’t.”

He grabs Sirius by the shoulders and pushes him to lie on his back. He swings his leg over so he’s straddling Sirius and their cocks are pressed hard together. Sirius moans, eyes rolling back. He jerks his hips up and Remus gasps, biting his lip. Sirius grabs the edge of Remus’ shirt and pulls it up and off, hands sliding back down Remus’ chest, ribs, stomach, hips. He unbuttons Remus’ jeans and Remus’ cock twitches with the release of pressure.

Remus can hardly feel the pain in his hip. His body feels only Sirius, his hands, his hardness, the warmth, the pressure, the slow roll of his pelvis beneath him. Remus’ veins are thrumming through him, body aching for the sensation of skin against skin. His eyes shut when Sirius palms him through his pants, teasing. A moan rises in Remus and suddenly Sirius’ fingers are curling around his naked cock.

Remus blinks and looks down. His jeans, pants, and Sirius’ pajama bottoms have vanished.

“Did you…?” he asks Sirius, but Sirius’ wand is nowhere to be seen.

Sirius shakes his head, eyes bright. “You did.”

Remus feels his face burn but can’t deny the pleasure of feeling Sirius’ hand tighten around him, thumb brushing the leaking tip. Remus drops down to his elbows to kiss Sirius, need flaring urgently through his body. Sirius’ leg comes up to hook behind Remus’ back, pulling him close.

“If I tell you where the lube is, can you summon it?” Sirius asks, words muffled against Remus’ mouth. Remus hums in agreement, reaching down to grab Sirius’ ass.

“Top of the dresser,” Sirius gasps as Remus cups his balls.

Remus concentrates, hand tightening involuntarily on Sirius’ crotch. Sirius sucks in a sharp breath and bites his lip hard.

“Sorry,” Remus whispers. A small bottle of lube hits him on the side of the head before falling to the pillow.

“Don’t be,” Sirius murmurs, writhing underneath him. His eyes are piercing. “I like it when you’re rough.”

Remus can’t stop the growl that rises in his throat at Sirius’ words.

“Turn over,” he says, voice low and commanding.

Sirius does, rolling over and rising to all fours. He rubs his ass against Remus, glancing coyly over his shoulder, biting his lip. Remus is on fire. He drags his fingernails down Sirius’ back to dig into his cheeks, sliding his cock between them. He pops open the lube, applies it hastily and messily, and pushes in, hard.

Sirius grunts, eyes screwed shut. Remus reaches forward, thrusting deep, and pushes Sirius’ head to the mattress.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sirius breathes, cheeks flushed. Remus grabs a handful of his hair and moves faster, harder, deeper.

Sirius reaches a hand down towards his cock and Remus takes his wrist, holds his hand behind his back. A smile curls Sirius’ lips. Pleasure knots tight in Remus’ stomach.

“ _Sirius_ ,” he moans, pulling Sirius’ head up slightly from the mattress. He feels Sirius’ hand wriggle against his grip and he tightens his hold. Sirius looks back at him, eyes dark, cheek red and imprinted with creases from the bedsheets.

Remus is close, but he doesn’t want to finish before Sirius. He releases Sirius’ hair and reaches around to grab his cock. Sirius groans long and low as Remus syncs his strokes with his thrusting.

“Fuck, Remus, _fuck!”_

He comes over Remus’ hand, spilling onto the bed. Remus feels his own release building up. He pulls out, using his come covered hand to jerk himself over the edge, crying out as he drips onto Sirius’ back.

Sirius drops onto his side, breathing heavily, eyes closed. Remus lies down behind him, hand brushing his hip gently. He kisses Sirius’ shoulder.

“Did I hurt you?”

Sirius shakes his head, smiling faintly. Remus notices a bruise blooming on Sirius’ wrist. He raises Sirius’ arm and kisses the bruise, healing it. Sirius hums and wiggles closer to Remus, back sticky and wet against Remus’ chest. Remus wraps his arm around Sirius and plants another kiss on his shoulder.

They lie in silence for a few minutes, heartbeats slowing back to normal, sweat and come drying on their bodies. Remus could stay like this forever, curled up together, basking in post-sex bliss. Except that now that he’s thinking about it, he really needs to piss. And he could also use a cigarette.

He pushes himself up to a sitting position. Sirius whines slightly, turning around to fix Remus with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes.

“I have to use the toilet,” Remus smiles apologetically.

“Fine,” Sirius huffs. “Bathroom’s next door down on the left.”

Remus limps out of the bedroom, hip pain back in full volume now he’s no longer got sex to distract him. He finds the bathroom and slides the door shut behind it. Everything is white and pristine; it almost looks like a hotel bathroom. There are even towels lying pressed and folded on a shelf above the toilet.

Bemused, Remus relieves himself and washes up, turning the water hot to scrub his chest and stomach rather than use a Scourgify. He’s just drying himself off when Sirius pushes the door open without knocking, making a beeline for the toilet.

“Your flat is very...clean,” Remus remarks while Sirius sighs loudly in relief as he pees.

“Thank you?” Sirius says questioningly, flushing the toilet. “Although you’ve only seen the bathroom.”

“And the bedroom.”

“I hope you weren’t thinking about the decor in the middle of all that,” Sirius snorts, running warm water over a washcloth and scrubbing his body.

“Not the whole time, no,” Remus teases. Sirius scowls at him, turning to examine his back in the mirror.

“Bloody hell, Moony, what have you done to me?”

Long scratch marks run down Sirius’ back, ending in fingerprint bruises on his ass. Remus’ stomach drops.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, “let me go get my wand.”

“It’s fine,” Sirius says. He kisses Remus firmly. “ _Really_. I like kinky Moony.” Sirius is smirking now, and Remus smiles slightly. Sirius kisses him again.

“Just help me get your come off my back.”

\---

They settle on the sofa with far too many boxes of takeaway spread out on the coffee table. Sirius had insisted Remus try every one of his “favourite dishes”. The entire menu seems to be his favourite. Remus digs into some orange chicken, marvelling at the ease with which Sirius uses chopsticks, even for rice. Remus is absolutely useless and needs a fork.

The rest of Sirius’ flat seems to be designed in the same vein as the bathroom and bedroom. Simple, neutral greys and whites, almost a sort of sterile feel to it. Remus only saw one photograph, in the bedroom, of James and Lily’s wedding day, Sirius laughing beside them. A few copies of Quidditch Reporter are scattered here and there, but other than that the flat looks remarkably unlived in. Nothing about it shouts _Sirius_.

“How long have you lived here?” Remus asks, scooping sticky sauce onto his rice.

“This flat? Almost two years,” Sirius responds. “You like it?”

Remus considers this. “It’s very...clean.”

“Why do you keep saying that like it’s an insult?” Sirius reaches over and steals Remus’ chicken.

“It’s just...there’s no pictures or anything,” Remus says slowly.

“You don’t have pictures up at your place,” Sirius counters, mouth full of chicken.

“I’ve got some. I mean more like, decoratively.”

“Are you interested in doing renovations, Moony?”

“No.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“No problem.”

Sirius considers him for a long moment, chopsticks poised over his sweet and sour eggplant.

“I move around a lot,” he says finally. “I don’t see the point in decorating. It’s just where I sleep.”

Remus says nothing, chewing slowly on his broccoli beef. 

Sirius frowns slightly. “I’ve got to retire by forty anyway, I’ll buy a place then.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

He looks upset. Remus shifts closer and takes his hand.

“It’s a nice place,” Remus says. “Really.”

“Every time the International League starts up, I have to go wherever the games are,” Sirius says, stabbing his eggplant viciously with his chopsticks. “And you’ve seen how it is even when I’m here. I’m always at training.”

“I know,” Remus says quietly, stroking the back of Sirius’ hand.

“It’s not like I have a family or kids I have to stay put for,” Sirius says bitterly. Remus feels a twinge of hurt at his words, but knows Sirius didn’t mean anything by it.

“You have James and Lily and Harry,” says Remus.

Sirius shrugs.

“And me.”

Sirius looks up at him, smiling softly. He leans over the boxes of takeaway and kisses Remus. “I have you.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, while Remus tries a little bit of everything. He has a niggling sense of unease in his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about the International Quidditch League. Of course he knows that Sirius is on the team, but he’d never really imagined what that meant: long months of Sirius overseas. Remus could hardly even handle a week and a half apart.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, setting down his chopsticks. “I didn’t mean to -”

“You should move in with me.”

Sirius stares at him, mouth open. A flush is rising in his cheeks.

“Sorry, what?”

Remus puts down his takeaway and turns on the sofa to face Sirius completely. “Move in with me.”

“You’re serious?” A smile is spreading on his face.

“I am.”

“But you heard what I just said, about traveling all the time.”

“I did.”

“And training.”

“Yes. I don’t care.”

Remus takes both of Sirius’ hands, heart pounding. He looks into Sirius’ eyes; they’re bright and silver and so intense Remus can hardly keep eye contact.

“I miss you,” he says. “We had all that time together and then all of a sudden it just ended, went back to normal.” Remus swallows, hands tightening on Sirius’. “I didn’t like it. You not being there.”

“I didn’t like it either,” Sirius says breathlessly. “It’s awful. I just kept thinking of you.”

“Me too.”

Sirius bites his lip. “But work…”

“You’re a wizard,” Remus cuts him off. “You can Floo to work.”

“Not if it’s overseas,” Sirius points out.

Remus waves a hand dismissively. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. All I know is that now, I want to be with you as often as I can.”

Sirius’ smile lights up his face. Remus leans forward to kiss him, feeling all at once overwhelmingly happy and in love and terrified.

“Okay?” he asks Sirius.

“Perfect,” Sirius responds, and Remus’ heart hurts.


	10. Chapter 10

Remus wakes up the next morning to a dull, pulsing ache in his arm. It’s trapped under Sirius, his fingers already numb. He pulls it out slowly so as not to wake Sirius, who’s snoring softly, mouth wide open. The sight makes Remus smile even as his arm throbs yet again. 

He wiggles his fingers, slowly working the feeling back into them. He expects the pain to subside as his arm wakes up, but it doesn’t, and the dawning realisation that the pain is coming from the tracker embedded in him sends a wave of cold horror rolling through him. The tracker is vibrating slightly, and the red light has gone from steady and constant to a slow, even blink.

Remus sits up, panic gripping his heart. They’re reminding him, warning him. MacNair’s sneering voice echoes in his head:  _ any attempt to remove the tracker is a crime punishable by Azkaban imprisonment _ . Remus feels sick to his stomach.

What will he have to endure at the Ministry? Silver shackles yet again? Four days spent unconscious and bleeding internally? Remus digs his fingernails into the sensitive flesh around the tracker, his breath short, panicked bursts. He’s trembling uncontrollably, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

He looks back at Sirius, still fast asleep. Asleep, carefree, happy. He doesn’t have impending torture on his schedule for the day.

Remus gets up and digs his cigarettes out of his bag before heading for the living room. Sirius had mentioned yesterday that he hates the smell, and Remus challenged him to find a better smelling way to cope with stress. Sirius had suggested yoga and Remus couldn’t stop laughing for five full minutes.

Remus settles into the couch, eyes shut, focusing on the heat in his throat, the soft crackling burn with every inhale. His fingers are shaking too much to hold the cigarette so he leaves it hanging between his lips, head leaning back against the sofa, just breathing deeply.

Halfway through his second fag, he hears Sirius padding into the room, smells his familiar citrusy scent even through the smoke. He smiles faintly as Sirius sits on the cushion next to him and reaches for his hand.

“Hi,” Sirius says, intertwining their fingers.

“Hey.” Remus’ voice is raspy from smoke. He opens his eyes, blinking away dizziness.

Sirius rests his head on Remus’ shoulder, soft hair tickling his neck.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Remus says truthfully. He extinguishes his cigarette, sighing. “Breakfast?”

“Okay,” Sirius agrees.

Sirius’ fridge is alarmingly bare, but Remus manages to find some eggs and butter in a drawer, and a loaf of bread in the freezer. His arm aches as he fries up the eggs, and he tries his best to ignore it. Every now and then the tracker vibrates sharply, making him jump. Sirius says nothing, but his eyes flick to the blinking red light and he’s biting his nails again.

“Don’t bite your nails,” Remus says, setting a plate down in front of him.

“Is it worse than smoking?” Sirius counters, smirking slightly.

“Yes,” Remus says immediately, reaching for Sirius’ hand and kissing the fingertips. “You’re ruining your beautiful hands.”

“And  _ you  _ used to smell so nice,” Sirius teases, tugging Remus towards him for a kiss.

Remus shrugs unapologetically and sits down to eat. The food feels like sandpaper in his mouth, but he forces it down. He doesn’t know what vile slop awaits him at the Ministry.

“What time are you supposed to be there?” Sirius asks.

“I don’t know. Before nightfall, I imagine.”

Sirius scoops eggs onto his toast and takes a massive bite. “Why d’you have to be there the day before? Full moon’s not till tomorrow.”

Remus shrugs again, poking listlessly at his eggs. “More time for mental and physical torture, I suppose.”

“Don’t,” Sirius frowns. “You don’t know, it might not be like last time.”

“Maybe.” Remus can’t bring himself to try to believe him. His stomach is in knots.

“Really,” Sirius says, squeezing Remus’ hand. “You’re not being arrested, there’s no reason to keep you in a cell. Maybe there’ll be, like, a werewolf hotel or something.”

Remus laughs at the thought, genuine laughter that brings tears to his eyes. He chooses not to respond that his very existence is “reason” enough for the Ministry to keep him in a cell. Instead, he leans forward and kisses Sirius soundly.

“Werewolf hotel sounds nice,” he muses, resting his chin in his hand. 

“There’ll be a buffet of rare steaks,” Sirius grins.

“And a massage parlour for sore muscles.” Remus twists his neck in an attempt to work out the stiffness.

Sirius reaches over to massage the nape of Remus’ neck with one hand, taking another huge bite of eggs with the other.

“When do you have training today?” Remus asks him, eyes fluttering shut as Sirius presses into a particularly sore knot near his shoulder.

“No training,” Sirius says, wiping his free hand and standing behind Remus to focus on the massage. “Tactical meeting in the evening. If we beat Wales we’re through to the quarter finals.”

“Well then I shall root for the demise of my countrymen,” Remus murmurs, leaning back against Sirius’ stomach.

Sirius snorts with laughter. “I appreciate it.” He’s silent for a moment, and when he next speaks his voice is gentle. “You don’t have to come.”

Remus sighs, feeling his shoulders stiffen automatically. Sirius’ hands push them gently down, fingers brushing away the tension.

“I want to,” he says. “I can’t ignore my parents forever.”

“You can,” Sirius says pragmatically. “I do.”

“That’s different,” Remus shakes his head.

“Why, because my parents made sure they never left scars?” Sirius’ tone is bitter.

Remus shrugs off Sirius’ hands and turns to face him, frowning.

“I did that to myself,” he says, voice wavering slightly.

“Because  _ they  _ forced you into the cellar,” Sirius retorts.

Remus’ arm throbs yet again and the pain reaches out to his chest. He closes his eyes against the wave and shakes his head again.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he says quietly.

Sirius says nothing. He gathers their plates and takes them to the kitchen. Remus’ hand comes up to tighten around his arm. The tracker is vibrating, pulsing, and it already feels stronger than when he woke up. He lets out a long breath and gets up to go to the kitchen.

Sirius is rinsing off the dishes, back to Remus. Bright sunlight streams through the window in front of him, casting a white glow around the outline of his body. Remus walks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“I was going to say ‘I’m sorry’,” Remus says, voice muffled against Sirius’ shirt. “But I decided not to.”

Sirius’ body shakes as he chuckles. “Good, I’m very proud of you.”

He dries his hands and turns in Remus’ arms so Remus’ face rests on his chest.

“My arm hurts,” Remus says.

“I know.” Sirius kisses the top of Remus’ head.

“I don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“If we cut off my arm would they still find me?”

“Probably.”

“What are they going to do to me?” Tears are stinging in Remus’ eyes.

Sirius is silent for a long moment, stroking circles in the small of Remus’ back.

“I don’t know,” he says finally as the tears roll slowly down Remus’ cheeks.

\---

Remus decides to walk to the Ministry. It’s only fifteen minutes away, though it takes nearly half an hour with his bad hip. He doesn’t mind, though. He needs the fresh air - what little he can get in central London, anyway - before the Ministry cells. 

Sirius walks with him, arm looped through his, Remus’ bag hanging from his shoulder. Remus wonders if the Ministry will let him keep the small bag of personal items, or if it’ll be torn away from him as he’s once again forced into a shapeless grey jumpsuit.

The tracker is practically humming as it vibrates, getting stronger with every step towards the Ministry. Remus’ arm has gone numb from the pain.

They stop in front of the phone booth that is the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry. Remus swallows hard against the lump in his throat, looking up at Sirius.

“I guess this is it,” he says.

Sirius reaches up to stroke Remus’ cheek. “Call me, if they let you keep your bag. You’ve got the mirror?”

Remus nods, clutching at Sirius’ jacket. He tries to take a deep breath but it hitches in his too-tight throat. Sirius leans down to kiss him softly.

“I love you,” he says. “I’ll wait for you at your place.”

“Okay,” Remus says, voice small.

Sirius kisses him again then hands him his bag. His reassuring smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Remus steps into the phone booth, sliding the door shut behind him. He picks up the receiver and presses the code James had given him. 6-2-4-4-2. A cool voice fills the booth.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Remus Lupin,” Remus says, then hesitates. What is his business? Werewolf prisoner? “Visiting the Department for Control of Magical Creatures,” he says, still unsure of himself.

“Thank you,” the voice responds. “Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.”

A small silver name tag shoots out of the machine and he grabs it instinctively, then drops it immediately, hissing as the silver burns his hand. He glances up to see Sirius starting forward towards the booth, concern etched into his face. Remus waves his hand and mouths  _ it’s okay _ . A second later, the booth begins its descent into the ground and Sirius disappears from view.

Remus crouches to pick up the tag and his fallen cane, sleeve wrapped over his fingers. He pins it clumsily to the lapel of his coat, trying not to think of how ominous a start this is.

“Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

The booth bumps and halts, and the doors slide open. 

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,” the voice says as Remus steps out into the Atrium.

Remus swallows nervously, clutching his bag close to his side. The Atrium is vast, with a huge, towering fountain in the middle. To his left there is a large line of Ministry employees waiting their turn in line for the Floo trip home, and straight ahead Remus sees the sign marked  _ Security _ . He ducks his head and makes his way across the Atrium.

The wizard sitting beneath the sign is reading  _ The Quibbler _ , and doesn’t notice when Remus approaches. Remus clears his throat gently, then louder still when he gets no response.

The man looks up at Remus slowly.

“Hello,” Remus says. “I’m here for, er, well, the lift said I need to -”

“Step over here, please,” says the man in a bored voice.

Remus stands on a small yellow patch on the floor, faded from thousands of other people doing the same. The man runs a long golden rod up and down the front of Remus’ body, then holds his hand out to take Remus’ wand.

“Ten and a quarter inches, cypress wood, unicorn hair,” he recites, looking up at Remus for affirmation. Remus nods. The man hands back his wand, and turns back to the  _ Quibbler _ .

“Sorry,” Remus says nervously. “I was just wondering if you could tell me -”

“Information’s over there,” says the man without looking at him, pointing to his left.

“Right. Thanks.”

Remus turns to head for the information desk just as two men step up to the security wizard. He can’t help but overhear one of them complaining in a thick Scottish accent.

“Every fucking month, the same shite. You’d think we could get some kind of frequent flyer pass or something.”

The other man snorts. “Sure, the Ministry’s all about making it  _ easier _ for us.”

Remus stops, back of his neck prickling. He looks over his shoulder

“Fucking bastards,” the first man spits at the security wizard, who doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“Yes, yes,” he drones in the same bored tone he’d used with Remus. “We’re all very scared. Wand, please.”

The men submit their wands for inspection. Remus  _ knows _ they are werewolves. He can feel it like he felt Greyback, albeit weaker. He hangs back while they finish up with security and walk past him, heading for the lifts. Remus keeps pace with them, hoping it doesn’t look like he’s following them as much as it feels to him.

As they wait for the lift to arrive, Remus watches the two men. They are chatting easily and don’t appear to be overly concerned. It puts Remus slightly more at ease, until it crosses his mind that maybe these men are so  _ used _ to the Ministry’s maltreatment that it doesn’t excite them anymore. 

The first man, the one who’d cursed out the security wizard, glances back at Remus. He’s tall and wide, with wiry red hair and an impressive beard. He has a thick, mangled scar that covers the left side of his face and stretches down his neck. Remus smiles tightly.

The lift doors open and they step on. It’s just the three of them, and Remus knows as soon as the doors ding shut that they know who he is. What he is.

“You’re new,” the redhead says to Remus, and Remus feels anxiety flare in his stomach.

The other man turns to examine Remus. He’s shorter than Remus, with tanned olive skin and eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

“My condolences,” he says, looking Remus up and down. 

The first man is shaking his head, eyes narrowed as he examines Remus’ scars. “No, you’re not  _ new _ . You were just  _ caught _ .”

Remus opens his mouth to respond just as the lift doors rattle open yet again and a harried looking witch gets on. She glances briefly at the three men before looking back down at the sheaf of papers in her arms.

The men say nothing, but Remus can feel them staring at him over the woman’s head. He clenches his hands into fists in an attempt to stop the trembling.

The woman gets off on the next floor (“Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Centre”) and the redhead immediately turns to Remus.

“You’re that Lupin bloke,” he says, and the other man’s eyes widen. “The one with the Quidditch player.”

“Yes,” Remus responds shortly. The man’s tone sounds accusatory, and Remus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say.

He is saved from further conversation when the doors open yet again (“Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats”) and James steps on. His eyes land immediately on Remus and he smiles widely.

“Remus! Good to see you.”

“Hello,” Remus says quietly, feeling the other men’s gazes boring holes in the side of his head.

“Oh,” James says, realisation dawning on his face. “Are you here for the -”

“Yes.”

“Right.” James shifts uncomfortably. “Well, er, good luck. Lily says if you need any help afterward, she’s -”

“Thanks. Sorry, James, this is me.”

The doors have opened yet again and the other men are getting off. Remus claps James briefly on the shoulder before following them out into the corridor. He hurries for a moment to catch up to them, hip protesting at his quick stride.

“Must be nice,” the redhead is saying to his companion in a loud, carrying voice, “to have the Head Auror as a best friend.”

Remus feels a flush burn in his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” the other man sniggers, “and the most popular Quidditch player in Britain for a boyfriend.”

“Sure,” Remus interjects sarcastically. “The hordes of paparazzi have really helped during the full moons.”

The men turn to glance at him. The redhead smirks, and he holds out a hand almost twice the size of Remus’.

“Lachlan Barron,” he introduces himself.

“Remus Lupin.”

The other man reaches for his hand as well. “Amir Jamali.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Remus says, hoping he sounds genuine and not at all like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Lachlan says, turning to march down the corridor.

The corridor is long and narrow and branches off several times. It’s lined with doors of all shapes and sizes, some with plaques designating their purpose, and others emitting loud and various noises. Remus feels sure he can hear an elephant braying from somewhere in the department.

Luckily, Lachlan and Amir know which turns to take, and Remus follows them as they chat easily, cane tap tapping on the tile floor. They walk down multiple hallways and take another, smaller, lift down five more floors. When they exit the lift, the corridor splits in two, with a sign saying MEN pointing to the left, and WOMEN to the right.

“They separate the men and women?” Remus asks incredulously.

Lachlan lets out a deep, booming laugh. “Wouldn’t want any accidental cubs, would we? Not on the Ministry’s watch.”

“Fucking hell,” Remus murmurs under his breath.

They approach a reception desk manned by an older wizard wearing canary yellow robes. He looks up and smiles at them with what appears to be genuine kindness.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he greets.

“Alright, John?” Lachlan says amicably.

“Well enough, well enough,” John responds, pulling out his wand. 

Lachlan and Amir are both rolling up the sleeves of their right arms, and Remus realises with a twist of anxiety to his stomach what they’re doing a split second before they expose their trackers to John. John taps each twice with his wand, disabling the flashing and vibrating.

“Hello there,” John addresses Remus, still smiling. “First time?”

“Sorry,” Remus says immediately, leaning his cane against John’s desk to push his sleeve up as well. Even though the other men are werewolves as well, and have plenty of scars of their own, Remus feels incredibly self conscious exposing the knotted, gnarled landscape of his arm to strangers. John disables his tracker and he pulls his sleeve down again, painfully aware it’s not  _ quite _ long enough to cover the still pink skin around his wrists.

“What’s your name, lad?” John asks, scanning a list of names with his wand.

“Remus Lupin.”

“Ah, here we are.” John taps his name and a glowing check mark appears next to it. He looks up at Lachlan and Amir. “Boys, show young Remus here around, will you? Help him get settled.” They nod and shrug, and Remus feels the anxiety tighten its grip around his stomach.

“I’m here until morning if you need anything,” John says, turning back to Remus with a warm smile.

“Thanks,” Remus says.

Lachlan and Amir have already started off into the other room, and Remus grabs his cane and hobbles after them. The next room over is a large common room, with multiple sofas and tables set up with plastic folding chairs. In one corner Remus spots a long table set up with a portable kettle and box full of teabags, as well as various packs of biscuits. A bowl of fruit is sitting on the edge of the table, largely untouched.

About a dozen men are milling around the room, lounging on sofas, playing cards at the small tables, a few smoking and standing underneath what Remus recognises as a ventilation charm bubble. A few of them look up as they enter the room, greeting Lachlan and Amir. Remus feels multiple sets of eyes settle on him and he clenches his hand into a fist, digging his fingernails into his palm in an attempt to ease the pounding of his heart.

Thankfully, they don’t stay to socialise. Amir leads the way down yet another corridor, lined with rooms that have no doors. Each room has two to four bunk beds in it, some already obviously taken, blankets thrown aside and clothes strewn about the bed. Amir keeps walking until he finds an unoccupied room with only two bunk beds.

“This’ll do,” Lachlan says, throwing his bag up on a higher bunk.

“You alright?” Amir asks Remus, who is standing frozen in the doorway. Amir’s voice jerks him into action and he sets his bag down on a lower bunk.

“Yeah, fine,” Remus responds, ducking his head to sit on the edge of the bed. He can tell from the thinness of the mattress that his hip is going to be unbearable tomorrow.

“You get used to it,” Amir says, smiling.

“Bit of a shock, eh, Remus?” Lachlan says shrewdly, leaning against the metal frame of his bed.

“A bit,” Remus agrees slowly.

“Nothing like having an entire forest to run around in,” says Lachlan, smiling in a way that looks far more like a grimace.

“Lachlan’s just bitter,” Amir says, rolling his eyes. “His wife took him to St Mungo’s when he was bitten and they sent him straight to register.”

“I could have survived the bite on my own!” Lachlan growls. “I didn’t need Healers.”

“Sure,” Amir smirks. “The gaping wound on your neck was definitely manageable from home.”

Lachlan scowls and Amir winks at Remus. Remus smiles, feeling slightly more at ease. He fishes in his bag for the mirror, slipping it into the pocket of his jeans along with a pack of cigarettes, then pulls himself to his feet.

“Ready to meet the others?” Amir asks.

“Er, sure.” Remus had been planning on asking where the loo is to sneak in a call to Sirius. But Amir and Lachlan are looking at him expectantly, and he hitches a smile onto his face and follows them back out the door.

It only takes ten minutes for Remus to feel thoroughly overwhelmed. He’s introduced to everyone in the common room, and it’s clear that they all know who he is. Some are smiling kindly, some seem wary, and a few look at him with outright disgust. By the time he’s shaken all the hands and repeated his name a dozen times, his hands are trembling and his stomach is a ball of lead. He wanders over to the small group standing under the ventilation charm and pulls out a cigarette. A blonde man next to him (Aaron? Alfred?) offers him a lighter, but Remus’ fag is lit before it even touches his lips. His fingers trace the flowered filigree of the mirror in his pocket, and he wonders when he can wander off to call Sirius.

“Surely we’re not all that bad,” the man (Archibald? Ansel?) says, smirking.

“The fags definitely help,” Remus responds, smiling as he lets the smoke stream out through his nose.

“Come on, Adam,” says a rough looking older man Remus is sure is named Lionel. “You remember what it’s like the first time.”

Adam (Adam!) barks with laughter. “All too well, old man.” He turns to Remus, eyes squinted through the cloud of smoke. “I was the last one here before you. Got bit just last year.”.

“Sorry to hear it,” Remus says. “It’s a miserable sort of club to be a part of.”

Adam shrugs, lighting another cigarette off the butt of his first. “They say the first year’s the hardest. So at least I survived that.”

“Aye,” Lionel says darkly.

“When were you bit?” Adam asks Remus.

“Nearly five.”

“Oh, not too long either. Lucky you, you kept them off you for five years.”

“No,” Remus shakes his head. “Sorry, I meant nearly five years old. I was five when I was bitten.”

A pregnant pause follows his words. Both men are staring at him as if they’ve never seen anything quite like him before. Remus feels a panic grip his chest as they continue to say nothing.

“Is that,” he swallows, “is that unusual?”

“You’re one of Greyback’s, aren’t you?” Lionel says, and Remus’ chest tightens even more.

“How’d you manage to stay away?” says Adam, something like awe in his wide eyed gaze.

“I - what?” Remus frowns, confused. “How do you know him?”

They exchange a brief glance, then burst into laughter. Lionel is wheezing and coughing into his elbow, wiping tears from his eyes. A few other men have wandered closer by now, and Remus isn’t sure if it’s because of the raucous laughter or because of Remus himself.

“Oh, lad,” Lionel gasps, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea who you are.”

His words ring in Remus’ head, an echo of what Greyback himself told him not long ago.

Remus narrows his eyes. “Well, are you going to inform me, or keep laughing?”

“A bit of both, I wager,” Lionel grins, yellow teeth crooked and sharp.

“He doesn’t know who Greyback is,” Adam is informing the veritable crowd gathered around them.

“I know who he is,” Remus corrects, willing himself not to fold his arms petulantly and pout.

“Forty years he’s been a werewolf,” Adam continues, not hearing Remus. “I’ve not been one a year and I know who he is!” The other men are howling with laughter now.

“Thirty years,” Remus mumbles, affronted. Surely he doesn’t look nearly  _ fifty _ .

“Do you really not know who Greyback is?” It’s Amir, appearing at Remus’ shoulder, looking bemused.

“Fucking hell!” Remus exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I know who he is! But I’d appreciate if someone would tell me  _ why _ it’s so fucking important that he’s the one who bit me!”

“Settle down, boys,” Lachlan’s deep voice booms over the laughter and a round of shushing follows.

“I wouldn’t say it’s  _ important _ that he bit you,” says Amir. “But it is interesting.”

“I disagree,” Lionel says loudly. “It is very important. How many of us here today are Greyback’s?” He looks around the room significantly and is met with silence. He turns to Remus, pointing a gnarled finger at him.

“Fenrir Greyback takes who he bites. He bites them young, kills their families, and takes them as his own. He leads the biggest, most feral werewolf pack in Britain. Murdering and biting just for the sake of it, big enough and powerful enough to keep the wizards at bay.” 

Lionel pauses, taking a moment to appraise Remus slowly. “He’s contacted you, hasn’t he?”

Remus says nothing, but Lionel nods knowingly. “He will keep coming for you. You are pack.”

“I’m not,” Remus says automatically. “I’ve lived with wizards my whole life. There’s no one  _ less _ pack than me.”

“That doesn’t matter to Greyback. You are his, you have his blood. I don’t know how you avoided him for this long, but now he’s onto your scent. ‘No’ is not a word Greyback takes kindly to hearing.” 

Remus’ stomach twists at his words. He’d thought he was done with Greyback. He refused to join his pack, and Greyback said he would wait. But perhaps this just sheds more light on Remus’ naivete. Would someone as vicious and feral as Lionel claims Greyback is really sit back and  _ wait _ for something he wants?

A grim silence falls over the group. Nearly every pair of eyes in the room is focused on Remus; he feels them like dozens of needles pricking at his skin. He needs to get out of this room, needs to talk to Sirius, needs to  _ hold _ Sirius.

“Well,” he says curtly to Lionel. “I appreciate the information. Thank you.”

Lionel opens his mouth to respond, but Remus is already pushing his way past the men, out into the corridor. By the time he finds the bathroom his breath is coming in sharp bursts and a white dizziness is eating at the corners of his vision. He locks himself in a stall and sits on the closed lid of the toilet. He buries his face in his hands and tries his best to calm his hyperventilating. 

He pulls the mirror from his pocket and flips it open. “Sirius Black,” he whispers. He hopes Sirius isn’t in the middle of his tactical meeting. They’d tried to plan his arrival right before Sirius’ meeting, so it should be over by now.

Sirius’ face pops into the mirror, smiling with relief. Remus feels a lump form in his throat and he blinks rapidly.

“They let you keep your things,” Sirius says.

“Yeah.”

“How is it?” Sirius’ voice is light but his eyes look worried. “How are you?”

Remus casts a quick  _ Muffliato _ on the stall door. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Not as bad as you expected?”

“No.”

“Werewolf hotel?”

Remus smiles. “More like a werewolf hostel dormitory.”

Sirius grins as he lifts a cup of tea and sips. “Sounds exciting.”

“Very.” Remus gazes at Sirius, feeling the familiar ache of longing in his chest. “Rather be with you.”

“Me too,” Sirius smiles gently. “Soon.”

Remus hears someone enter the loo, unzip their jeans, and groan loudly as they pee.

Remus sighs. “Not soon enough.”

\---

The other men are civil enough to Remus for the rest of the evening, but by the next morning, as Remus nurses a cup of weak tea and a throbbing migraine, he’s grateful that it’s early January and the moon rises by five in the afternoon. And, as he’d suspected, the mattress did no favours to his hip, and it’s so stiff that just getting out of bed nearly brought him to tears.

The atmosphere in the common room is sedate and quiet. Remus is used to not sleeping much the night before the full moon, but it’s an odd sensation to be in a place full of other men who have also not slept well, for the exact same reason. Grimaces are passed around in place of good mornings.

No one’s mentioned Greyback to him again, and he has an inkling that Amir told everyone to leave him alone. Amir sat by Remus at dinner (a surprisingly decent, if bland, chicken and roasted potatoes) and kept the conversation flowing, not once asking Remus any overly personal questions. One of the younger boys had tried asking Remus something Quidditch (and Sirius) related and Amir had glared at him so hard he’d got up and switched tables.

Even as the morning fades into afternoon, men keep trickling in past the front desk. Remus has learned that the Ministry won’t technically do anything to them if they don’t arrive the night before the full moon, but the request is there as a precaution. If they haven’t made an appearance three hours before moonrise, an Auror is dispatched. Apparently quite a lot of werewolves prefer suffering through the increasing pain of the tracker rather than spend their night at the Ministry. Secretly, Remus rather agrees with them.

Remus tries calling Sirius again twice, but he must be at training because he doesn’t pick up either time. It only adds to the unease building in his stomach and the pulsing pain in his temples. By the time they’ve all started getting ready to head off to the cells, Remus throws caution to the wind and opens the mirror as he’s sitting on his bed, stuffing his pajamas into his bag while Amir and Lachlan glance at him curiously.

“Sirius Black,” Remus says firmly, aware how much of an idiot he looks.

His own hazel eyes stare frantically back at him.

He snaps the mirror shut and slips it into his bag, trying to keep his face impassive. He swings the bag over his shoulder and gets up, smiling tersely at the other men. The aching in his bones gets stronger with every minute, the moon tugging in his veins. He’s antsy, nervous, worried about Sirius not answering him. He grips his cane hard, knuckles white.

“Ready?” Amir asks.

Remus and Lachlan nod, and they file out the door.

There’s an Auror at the main door, tapping each man’s tracker as he leaves, checking off names on a list. Remus’s tracker buzzes sharply when tapped, and he’s sure it’s just been activated again. They’re only allowed to leave in groups of five, and each group is escorted by another Auror down a long, empty hallway that Remus can only assume is full of cells.

The Auror stops him beside a blank stretch of wall, waving his wand and muttering a long, complicated incantation. The wall melts and Remus sees the same sort of concrete cube he was held in last month. His heart leaps to his throat.

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump. He turns to see Amir smiling at him.

“Good luck, eh? See you next month.”

“You too,” Remus says, voice hoarse. “Thanks.”

He enters the cell and the wall solidifies behind him. 

Remus takes a long, deep, bracing breath, hoping to quell the dread rising in him. He notices a long, flat metal box in the corner of the room. He opens it and places his bag and wand inside, then strips and folds his clothes carefully on top. The moon is stronger now, even through the nauseating silver emanating from the walls.

A strong vibration buzzes in the metal box, and Remus practically tears his bag in his haste to reach the mirror.

“Sirius,” he breathes, relief flooding through him.

“Remus, I’m so sorry,” Sirius says, mirror held close to his face, eyes wide and bright. “They wouldn’t let me leave, training was -”

“It’s okay,” Remus says quickly, pain curling across his body.

“I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow,” Sirius promises.

“Okay.” Remus gasps, feeling the change imminent in his bones.

Tears fill Sirius’ eyes. “I love you.”

Remus screams, mirror slipping from his grasp to shatter on the floor.

\---

Remus wakes with his face flat on the floor, blood trickling from his nose and mouth and pooling beneath him. The fact that he can’t breathe through his nose suggests it’s broken, and when he attempts to push himself to his feet and nearly passes out again from a pain in his right elbow, he can only assume he’s broken that as well. He rolls carefully to his back, coughing wetly and spitting out a large wad of blood to the side.

Using his left arm, he slowly sits up and surveys the room. His belongings are strewn across the floor, bag and clothes thoroughly shredded. He remembers with a pang that he didn’t manage to close the box before his transformation. He crawls to his knees, wavering slightly from the pain in his arm, and drags himself over to the box, hoping fervently he hasn’t damaged his wand.

It lies, unharmed, on the bottom of the box and Remus nearly weeps. He wonders if he can Apparate from here, or if he’s supposed to wait for someone to collect him. He closes his eyes and concentrates, and doesn’t feel the strange halting sensation that accompanies anti-Apparition wards. He reaches out a hand for the tattered rags that are his clothes, and they come shooting towards him. He feels the mirror frame and shards settle in his hand and he closes it tight and  _ turns _ .

He lands hard on the bathroom floor, head smacking nastily against the tile. Darkness overwhelms him for a long moment before he blinks his eyes open to see Sirius kneeling over him.

“You idiot,” Sirius says, “you’ve splinched yourself.”

“Have I?” Remus can barely manage to keep Sirius in focus, and a numb tingling is spreading through his limbs.

“I’m calling Lily. Don’t move.” Sirius gets to his feet and rushes from the room.

“Okay,” Remus responds vaguely to the empty room.

Remus must have drifted off because the next time he opens his eyes Lily is on the floor next to him, running her wand along the length of his right arm, murmuring an incantation that sounds almost like a song. Sirius is hovering behind her, chewing his nails.

“Not splinched,” Lily says to Sirius. “Just broken.”

“But he could have.”

“Yes, he could have. Remus,” she turns to him and jabs her wand at him sternly. “Do try _not_ to Apparate the next time you lose copious amounts of blood.”

“I always do,” Remus croaks, throat like sandpaper.

“I told you he’d say that,” Sirius throws his hands up in frustration.

“Remus,” Lily’s voice is calm, but firm. “You Apparated from London to northern Scotland, with broken limbs and severe blood loss. The Ministry has Healers and they have Floo. Those are your two options, alright?”

Remus’ head is swimming again, Lily’s face dissolving into an orange blur. 

“Alright,” he whispers, slipping out of consciousness with a soft sigh.

\---

Remus sleeps for a full ten hours. When he wakes up mid afternoon, he turns his head to see Sirius asleep beside him, hand curled underneath his cheek. Remus smiles, reaching his still stiff arm over to stroke Sirius’ shoulder gently. Sirius’ eyes flutter open, face immediately contorting with worry.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?” he asks, voice slurred with sleep.

“Better,” Remus says truthfully. He’s no longer dizzy, and most of the pain has subsided.

Sirius lets out a heavy sigh but smiles, hand cupping Remus’ face.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he says softly.

“No promises.”

Sirius responds with a kiss, and Remus nearly whimpers. 

"Tea?" Sirius asks, half rising from the bed. 

"Not yet," Remus says, tugging at Sirius' shirt. 

Sirius lies down obligingly, and Remus folds himself into his embrace. Sirius runs his hand soothingly up and down Remus' back and Remus hums in satisfaction. 

"Do you want to tell me about them?" Sirius says after a couple of minutes. 

"Mostly they were nice," Remus responds, voice muffled in Sirius' shirt. "A bit of tension in the beginning, but for the most part I kept to myself." 

"Tension?" Sirius' hands don't falter, but his voice is terse. 

Remus pulls away slightly, looking up into his grey eyes. “Apparently I’m really bad at being a werewolf.”

Sirius snorts with laughter. “How so?”

“They were all upset that I didn’t know anything about the man who bit me.”

“You’ve met him, isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, well.” Remus shifts onto his back, intertwining his fingers with Sirius’. “Apparently he’s a famous werewolf.”

This piques Sirius’ interest.

“Stubby Boardman famous?” he asks, and Remus laughs.

“I may not know much about Greyback, but I’m pretty sure he’s not a famous rockstar.”

“ _ Greyback?” _

Sirius sits straight up in bed, staring down at Remus with wide, panicked eyes. Remus pushes himself up too, ignoring the pain shooting down his arm.

“Fucking hell, you know him too?”

“You never told me it was Greyback,” Sirius says, hand clenching on Remus’.

“I hadn’t realised it was significant,” Remus says. “Why do you know about him?”

“I knew we should have told James, that first time he came for you.” Sirius gets to his feet, running a hand through his hair. 

“Sirius -”

“He’s dangerous, Remus,” Sirius snaps. “He’s dangerous and if he’s after you, you need to tell James.”

Remus sits back against the headboard of the bed, jaw clenched. He says nothing, watching Sirius pace frantically across the room.

“He’s a bad man,” Sirius says after a minute, coming to stand at the end of the bed. “A bad man who does bad things for bad people.”

“Sirius…”

“Pureblood families hire him,” Sirius says, voice icy and sharp. “To attack Muggles and Muggleborns. Pureblood families like  _ mine. _ ”

Remus’ breath catches in his throat. “What?” he whispers.

“The old families occasionally hire him to do their dirty work,” Sirius hisses. “Whenever a family member crosses the line and goes and marries a Muggleborn. It’s such an easy solution. No one will view a werewolf attack as anything more than just that; a vicious, crazy werewolf gone feral.”

Remus can hardly breathe, his heart is hammering against his ribcage. Sirius looks away from him, towards the window, and Remus can see tears glittering in his eyes.

“They sent him after my cousin, Andromeda. Tonks’ mum. Tonks was just a baby. Andromeda knows our family, knows what they’re capable of. She’d set up wards all around the property. By the time the wolves got close, they’d already alerted the Aurors. But Greyback is smart, he knew something was off. He got away, sacrificed a couple more expendable members of his pack and ran for it.”

Remus is taking deep, gulping breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Sirius walks over to his side and sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches for Remus’ hand and Remus grabs him so tightly his fingers turn white.

“You have to tell James,” Sirius says. “Greyback isn’t someone you can deal with on your own.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispers. “About your family.”

“I’ve come to terms with it,” Sirius says coldly. “Their actions have nothing to do with me.”

Remus bites his lip, thinking of all the lives Greyback has ruined just for the sport of it. Just for the money. A sick feeling twists his stomach.

“The Ministry has been after Greyback for decades,” says Sirius, squeezing Remus’ hand. “Maybe thanks to you they’ll finally be able to catch him.”

His words spark something in Remus. 

“Sirius,” Remus says slowly. “Do you think...I could maybe use him? Use that?”

Sirius frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...I give them Greyback, and in exchange they drop the charges.”

Sirius’ eyes widen and a smile curls his lips. “Bloody hell, Moony. Using a connection to a convicted felon in your favour. I like it. Very Slytherin.”

Remus grins, slapping Sirius lightly on the shoulder.

“We’ll talk to James,” Sirius says. “We’ll have to get the bastards from Animal Control in on it, I’d assume, as they’re the ones pressing the charges.”

“Right,” Remus says, dread and fear filling him at the thought of having to speak with MacNair again.

“It’s worth a shot,” Sirius is saying. “It just might work.”

He leans forward to kiss Remus deeply, and despite the fear, Remus feels a tiny glimmer of hope blossom deep within him for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! It's been a rough couple of weeks, and I appreciate every single one. <3 Next chapter we're off to Wales to meet the [lovely?] Lyall and Hope Lupin! Stay tuned ;)


	11. Chapter 11

“Are we really doing this?”

“We don’t have to.”

“I said I would.”

“Well then, I guess we are.”

“Sirius…”

“Remus.”

Sirius is grinning widely, holding out a bright blue helmet. Remus takes it, frowning.

“This goes against my every base instinct. And common sense.”

“Really?” Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Because this is a hell of a lot safer than Apparating, half conscious, from London to Scotland.”

Remus scowls at him.

“Or following an unknown dangerous man into a shady pub at night,” Sirius continues. “Hell, it’s safer than _smoking_.”

“Fine, fine,” Remus concedes, pinching Sirius’ hip and making him jump. “You’ve made your point.”

“Besides,” Sirius says, tucking his own jet black helmet under his arm and reaching out for Remus’ hand. “I am an _excellent_ flyer.”

“Sure,” Remus mumbles.

“Ready?” Sirius asks, squeezing his hand. Remus nods, plastering a hopefully not _entirely_ fake smile onto his face. Sirius grins, opens the door, and the photographers’ cameras immediately start flashing.

It’s been a whirlwind few days for Remus and Sirius, and everything seems to be happening all at once. The article Remus had interviewed for came out the day after the full moon, bringing with it a fresh tidal wave of supportive letters from all over the country. It had been overwhelmingly well received, and even though the photos of Remus posing awkwardly and showing off his scars made him shrivel up inside, he was happy he’d done it. James told him that there had been an absolute barrage of hate mail sent to MacNair’s department. Some of the letters had been booby trapped, and after MacNair’s secretary was sent to St Mungo’s with fur growing rapidly from her body, James’ department had been sent down to take care of screening the letters. Apparently, MacNair had been livid. Just the thought of MacNair’s face as his assistant sprouts fur makes Remus feel like it was all well worth it.

In addition, Remus had started searching for an assistant of his own, after much needling on Sirius’ part. Sirius had reasoned that everyone knew about his lycanthropy now, so it wasn’t something he would have to hide from potential employers, and that it would make more financial sense to have someone to cover for him during the days of the full moon. Or on days where he has to close early.

Like today, just a week after the last moon. They’ve stopped by Sirius’ flat to pick up some extra clothes and Quidditch kit, and somehow, Sirius has convinced him that they should fly the rest of the way to Wales. Remus suspects a well timed _Confundus_.

Sirius flashes his brilliant smile at the photographers, leading Remus towards his bright red motorbike. He shrinks their bags and packs them into the box on the back of the bike.

“Heading to the match, Sirius?” one reporter asks, levitating a microphone obnoxiously close to their faces.

“Are you going to be cheering for Wales, Remus?”

“Mr Lupin, how was the last full moon at the Ministry?”

Remus smiles blandly at them, then pulls the helmet over his head without responding, snapping the mirrored visor closed. Sirius has donned his helmet as well and is swinging one leg over the bike.

“Sirius, give us a pose on the bike!”

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius raises a hand and turns his helmeted face towards the cameras.

“See you all in Wales!” he says brightly, sliding his own visor shut and beckoning to Remus.

Remus climbs on behind him, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist. He feels a warm tingle as Sirius’ heating charm extends to envelop him.

“Ready?” Sirius’ voice echoes in his helmet as though he’s speaking directly into his ear.

Remus adjusts himself so he’s as comfortable as can be, gripping Sirius’ leather jacket tight. “Ready.”

The engine revs into life beneath them. Sirius pulls slowly out of the driveway, away from the reporters, and Remus lets out a sigh of relief as they turn the corner.

“Pulling up now,” Sirius warns, pressing the button that enables the anti-Muggle wards.

Remus’ stomach lurches as they lift off, fingers going numb from how tightly he’s holding on to Sirius. The street shrinks quickly beneath them as they rise into the clear blue sky. Despite the anxiety, Remus can’t help but marvel at the sight of London from above, cars like toys and people just ants walking down the pavement.

“Alright?” Sirius asks, banking slightly to the left.

“Yeah,” Remus says, resting his helmeted head against Sirius’ back. It’ll be a couple hours ride, he might as well try to enjoy it. Sirius lifts his hand from the handles of the bike to squeeze Remus’ hand briefly. Remus smiles behind his visor.

London fades into long stretches of rolling hills as they pass into the countryside. Farms spread out below them in patches of yellow and green, flocks of sheep scattered white flecks across the grass. The sky grows darker the closer they fly to Wales, and Remus feels the anxiety brewing in his stomach, roiling like the storm clouds up ahead.

His correspondence with his parents has been spotty, to say the least. Last week he’d owled his mother to inform her that he would be in Wales, and Remus could practically smell the bitterness seeping from her words, _“Yes, we do read the newspapers”._ It had sent him into a spiral of guilt that the majority of life updates she’s gotten about him recently have been from the _Prophet_ . When she’d offered that they stay overnight after Sirius’ match, Remus had tried to decline, using his shop as an excuse. His mother had responded: “ _If you can close early to go to his match, you can open late to spend time with your parents.”_ Remus had had no choice but to comply.

“Can you reach your wand?” Sirius’ voice breaks through his brooding.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Looks like rain coming up,” Sirius says. “We’ll need an _Impervius_.”

“Are you okay, flying in the rain?” Remus asks nervously.

“Sure,” Sirius says easily. “As long as I’ve got the spell I can keep my grip just fine.”

Remus tugs his wand from his back pocket, casting the spell over them and refreshing the warming charm.

“Thanks,” Sirius pats his hand. “We’re nearly there, only about half an hour left.”

Forty five minutes and one torrential downpour later, Sirius is circling the Quidditch stadium in a slow descent. People are spilling out of the front doors in a long, meandering line, Puddlemere blue interspersed among the Caerphilly green and red.

Sirius banks sharply and pulls around to the back of the stadium. Remus can see a small crowd of reporters huddling under umbrella charms. Sirius leans forward and Remus tightens his grip as they land with a juddering thump on the asphalt.

“Don’t take off your helmet,” Sirius advises, killing the engine. The reporters have already turned to them, microphones and cameras at the ready.

Sirius dismounts, ignoring the cries of “Mr Black! Sirius, over here!” and offering Remus a hand to help him off. Remus takes it gratefully; his legs are jelly from nearly three hours astride the great vibrating motorbike.

Once they’re inside and away from the cameras, Sirius pulls off his helmet with a sigh of relief, shaking out his hair like a dog coming in from the rain.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he grins. Remus takes off his own helmet gingerly, tilting his head from side to side to stretch out the stiffness in his neck.

“Next time, we can Portkey _both_ ways,” he says, handing Sirius the helmet and kissing him chastely.

“Black!” a loud voice shouts from down the corridor. “Get your bloody arse in here! What time d’you call this?!”

Puddlemere Captain and Seeker Benjy Williams is standing in the doorway to what appears to be the locker room. His face is very red.

“Sorry Benjy,” Sirius says, not looking sorry at all. “Had to take the scenic route, you understand.”

“No, Black, I really don’t,” Williams growls. “Get the _fuck_ in here. The stadium’s already half full!”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius rolls his eyes. He turns to Remus, hand on the small of his back to draw him closer.

“The stairs up that way will lead you to the main entrance,” Sirius says, pointing off behind Remus’ shoulder. “Remember to tell them at the ticket counter you’ve got -”

“Family tickets, I know,” Remus cuts him off with a kiss. “Go on, before they fire you.”

Sirius scoffs. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to this team and they know it.”

He leans down to kiss Remus soundly, only pulling away when Williams shouts “ _Black so save me God I will bench you this whole match!”_

Sirius disappears down towards the locker rooms, shooting a wink at Remus over his shoulder as he goes. Remus shakes his head, bemused, and makes his way slowly up the stairs.

Remus notices as he makes his way through the crowds near the ticket counters that people seem far less interested in him than last time. It’s ironic, he muses, given that he’s actually _from_ Wales, that the Welsh fans couldn’t really give a toss about him. It’s nice. He picks up a cone of hot chips from a very loud vendor who’s stationed himself right outside the cordoned off family area. When Remus pulls the rope up and crosses underneath, he feels the faces of a dozen envious children follow him to his seat. He grins guiltily at the parents when the kids immediately start badgering them for chips.

He pulls out a folder of resumes he’s brought along with him, to go over while he waits. Unfortunately, both James and Lily were too tied over with work to be able to make it out to the game, so he’s left to his own devices. He’d expected there to be a bit more dead time before the match actually begins, but Williams was right - the stadium is filling up rapidly; Remus is very glad for the sound deadening charm placed over his section.

He’s just drawn a large red X across an application that was clearly from a Puddlemere fan hoping to catch a glimpse of Sirius (there are an unfortunately large number of those) when the announcer’s voice echoes through the stadium. As he announces the home team, the Caerphilly Catapults, Remus wipes the last of the chip grease from his fingers and tucks away his papers.

He stands up against the rail to catch a glimpse of Sirius’ team trooping out onto the pitch. The cheering and applause is noticeably quieter than what the Catapults received, but Remus supposes that’s to be expected at away games. The players shoot up into the air one by one as the announcer calls their names. Remus keeps his eyes trained on Sirius, black hair whipping in the wind as he laps the stadium.

As Sirius draws nearer, Remus is hoping silently for a wave and kiss like at the last match, but Sirius has his goggles on already and his eyebrows are drawn together in a tight frown. Remus feels his heart skip. He recalls Sirius telling him that this was an important match for a spot in the quarter finals; he hopes Williams didn’t scold Sirius too badly for showing up late.

A whistle sounds, a Quaffle is thrown, and the match is off. 

Only ten minutes in and already three fouls have been called, setting the tone for the game. The players are ruthless, Beaters swinging viciously, Chasers doing anything they can to steal the Quaffle. After the fourth foul, where a Puddlemere Chaser is left with a stream of blood flowing from their nose, a time out is called by Wales.

Remus leans over the rail, biting his lip. The teams are hovering by the goal posts, support staff zooming in to bring them bottles of water. Sirius has removed his goggles and is wiping sweat from his brow. He’s arguing with something the Chaser with the bloody nose has said, shaking his head and gesturing vehemently, swaying dangerously on his broom.

The referee blows his whistle and Sirius crumples his empty water bottle angrily and throws it to the grass; one of the support wizards snatches it up before it lands.

The game starts up again, with Puddlemere taking their penalty shot. Wales blocks, and the players shoot into action with a furious speed that Remus can hardly keep track of. He does notice that one of the Welsh Beaters has taken to trailing Sirius, so as to cut off his every move. He’s so close that Sirius’ robes are slapping into him as they fly. Remus can tell that this is infuriating Sirius; he’s making increasingly dangerous maneuvers to try and shake him off, nearly colliding with several other players as he does so.

“And that’s yet _another_ foul on Puddlemere, as Black seems to be using his _body_ rather than the Bludger to knock Davidson off his broom!”

A loud chorus of boos erupt from the Welsh supporters. Sirius has torn his goggles off again and is yelling at the Beater trailing him, Davidson. He’s only smirking in response and adjusting his robes, which Remus knows is bound to make Sirius even angrier.

Wales takes their shot, and scores. A groan rolls through the Puddlemere section. Wales is now sixty points up, and Puddlemere is growing more and more desperate. They still have a chance if they catch the Snitch, but neither Seeker has shown any sign that they’ve seen it.

The sky darkens overhead as the match rolls on, and still Wales keeps its lead. Close to an hour in, a booming crack of thunder nearly drowns out the announcer’s cries.

“Jones has seen the Snitch! She’s diving - can Williams catch up?”

Both Seekers are speeding toward the ground, robes whipping behind them in blurs of blue and green striped red. Jones is so far ahead, Remus can’t see any way Williams can catch up. A Bludger comes shooting directly in front of Jones’ path, she swerves expertly, eyes never leaving the small glint of gold hovering near the base of the goal posts.

It’s over in a matter of seconds. Jones is soaring triumphantly back up towards her team, fist clenched over the Snitch, and the crowd is screaming. 

Remus feels his stomach drop as he seeks out Sirius; he’s hovering near his team, jaw clenched, goggles hanging from his wrist as he ties his hair behind his head. They fly slowly back down, faces pinched and sour, but none quite so livid as Williams. Remus gathers his things and follows the crowd out of the bleachers and down towards the pitch. A couple of reporters are hovering outside the family section, trying to lock on to anyone they can to ask how disappointed they are for their team’s loss.

Remus pushes past them, down a long winding staircase, and finds himself in the main entrance lobby where he’d purchased his tickets. He has no idea where Sirius is, and figures the entrance is as good a place as any to wait. He wishes they had the mirrors; they’ve sent Remus’ shattered one to be repaired by an antique specialist in Diagon Alley.

He tries to find as quiet a corner as he can to stand and wait. The atmosphere is absolutely buzzing, large groups of rowdy Welsh supporters breaking out in song, cheering for their favourite players as they recall the match play by play. Remus contemplates Disillusionment.

Half an hour has passed, the majority of the crowd has gone, and Remus is wondering if maybe Sirius is waiting for him by the motorbike out back. Or maybe he’s stuck with the team, with Williams yelling at them, and it’ll be much longer before he’s out. He hopes not; he’s promised his mother they’d be there in time for supper.

Just as he can feel the anxiety starting to spiral within him, he sees Sirius heading towards him from across the room. Sirius has changed out of his uniform and clearly taken a quick shower; his wet hair falls in a thick plait over his shoulder, dripping onto his leather jacket. His face is grim, but a smile quirks the corner of his mouth when Remus catches his eye.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says the minute he’s within earshot.

Sirius shrugs a shoulder and kisses Remus’ forehead.

“Ready?” he asks, handing Remus his blue helmet.

Remus takes the hint. “Sure. Are we flying again?”

“It’s half an hour if we fly, over an hour if we drive,” Sirius says, hand on Remus’ back as he leads him towards the back exit.

Remus glances at his watch. “Let’s fly, then.”

Sirius nods shortly then puts on his helmet, gesturing for Remus to do the same before he opens the door. As Remus slips the helmet on, he feels a pang in his chest at the distant look on Sirius’ face. Since they’ve started dating, Puddlemere has won all the matches they’ve played. Remus isn’t sure what Sirius’ coping mechanisms with losing are like, and anxiety tugs at his gut as he realises that he’s about to find out. Right before spending the evening with his parents.

Lovely.

The flight to Remus’ parents’ cottage is silent. Sirius checks the navigation charm Remus has floating near the handlebars once or twice, but says nothing until they’re about to descend.

“Okay?” He places a hand on Remus’ briefly, squeezing.

“Yeah.”

Sirius releases his hand to focus back on the driving, pressing the anti-Muggle wards yet again as they circle the small cottage. They touch down on the narrow dirt road leading up to the front door with a slightly harsher bump than last time. Remus hisses as it jars his hip.

“Okay?” Sirius asks again, concern laced in his voice.

“Just my hip, it’s okay,” Remus assures. They’re rolling closer to the cottage, each bump in the road sending another jolt up through Remus’ hip.

“Sorry, shit,” Sirius says, slowing to a halt and killing the engine. “It’s these stupid dirt roads, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Remus insists. Sirius is pulling off his helmet and stepping off the bike, brows knit with worry as he helps Remus off.

“Do you need your cane?” he asks, already rummaging through the box on the back of the bike, unzipping Remus’ bag. “Did you even bring it?”

“Sirius,” Remus grabs his hand and Sirius falters, looking up at him. “For the third time, I’m _fine_.”

Sirius smiles tersely. “Okay.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Remus asks, stepping closer and raising a hand to stroke Sirius’ cheek. Sirius’ smile melts into one more genuine, and he leans into the touch. He turns his head to kiss Remus’ palm.

“I’m okay,” he says. His eyes flicker past Remus and he tenses slightly. “Your mum’s waiting for us.”

Remus takes a deep, bracing breath. It does absolutely nothing to quell the sudden and intense pounding of his heart. He turns to the cottage, sees his mother’s slight figure standing in the doorway, backlit with warm, yellow light. He raises a hand to her, hoping she can’t see how ingenuine his smile is from this far away.

“There’s no turning back, now,” he mutters to Sirius.

“No,” Sirius responds, hitching their bags over his shoulder and reaching for Remus’ hand. “Any chance they don’t follow Quidditch?”

Remus shakes his head as they trudge towards his mother. “Dad listens to all the matches on the wireless.”

“Fuck.”

“You’ll have to control _that_.”

“Something tells me you’ll have a harder time of it than me.”

Remus squeezes Sirius’ hand tight. “Twat.”

Sirius leans close and kisses Remus’ temple. Remus can feel himself flushing; they’ve reached his mother, and Hope Lupin is looking up at them with a wry smile.

“Remus,” she greets, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. She is small and slight, but her hug is tight, hands gripping his coat. 

“Hi, Ma,” Remus says against her hair.

“ _It’s been too long,”_ Hope says in Welsh. She pulls away to look up at him, and her hazel eyes are brimming with tears. “ _I hardly recognise you!”_

Remus swallows. He feels Sirius’ hand come to rest on his shoulder, and the warm weight comforts him.

“Sorry,” Remus responds in English, not wanting to keep Sirius out of the conversation. “Well, we’re here now. Ma, Sirius.”

“Of course,” Hope smiles and turns to Sirius, reaching out to hug him as well. “Good to see you again, dear.”

“And you.” Sirius winks at Remus over Hope’s shoulder.

Hope’s casual _again_ makes Remus’ stomach flip. He’d almost managed to forget that Sirius and his parents had already met, back when Remus was incarcerated. The bitterness he still harbors over his parents not waiting around for him to be released rises in him like bile.

“Come, let’s get you in, we’ve got a fire going,” Hope says, ushering them through the door.

The cottage is as warm and bright as it always is. Remus can feel that special mix of nostalgia mixed with anxiety that only his childhood home can induce wash over him. Hope takes their coats and hangs them on the hooks by the door. Each hook is in the shape of a different animal; Remus had spotted them in the window of a small thrift shop while out one day on an impromptu visit to the neighboring village. He remembers taking the wolf shaped hook out of the pack of five and throwing it in the bin.

“Remus.”

His father’s voice breaks through his reverie. Lyall stands in the doorway to the sitting room, as tall and imposing as ever. His beard has grown wilder and whiter since the last time Remus saw him face to face.

“Dad,” Remus manages through the lump in his throat.

His father’s gaze locks onto Sirius and something of a smile flickers beneath his beard, though his eyes remain impassive. He holds out a hand and Sirius grabs it in a firm shake.

“Sirius,” Lyall says in way of a greeting.

“Sir,” Sirius returns, smiling pleasantly. Remus doesn’t know how he manages it.

“Tough match,” Lyall says, releasing Sirius’ hand.

Sirius’ smile doesn’t falter. “Wales played well.”

“You can get all your sports talk out at dinner,” Hope says, ushering them all through to the dining room. “The chicken’s been ready an hour.”

Another twist of guilt; Remus knows she’s doing it on purpose. He breathes out sharply through his nose.

“I’ll help,” he says, glancing at Sirius to make sure he’ll be okay sitting alone with Lyall. Sirius winks and smiles, and Remus feels a genuine smile spread across his face as well. They’ve got this. They’re adults. It’s only parents.

Remus follows his mother into the kitchen, mouth watering at the deep, savoury smell of roast chicken.

“ _It smells amazing, Ma,_ ” he says, reverting back to Welsh now they’re alone.

 _“I hope your father’s spells haven’t put it off,_ ” Hope says anxiously, prodding at the chicken with a fork. _“We had to keep it warm.”_

“ _Sorry,”_ Remus says, not feeling it. He pulls potatoes out of the oven and rummages in a drawer to find a spoon.

 _“I don’t know if I’ve made enough_ ,” his mother says. The counters are overflowing with salads and bread rolls and various side dishes of roasted vegetables. Remus points this out.

Hope waves away his reasoning like an irritating fly. _“You’re too thin_ ,” she says, sticking spoons in every serving bowl of food. Her eyes flick over him, scanning critically. _“You’re not eating enough.”_

It takes every ounce of Remus’ self control to not roll his eyes.

 _“I’m fine_ ,” he says firmly. 

He pulls out his wand to levitate the bowls of food into the dining room, where Sirius and Lyall seem to be deep in a debate about Wales’ prospects about making it to the finals. Lyall has poured them both glasses of a deep red wine, and Sirius’ cheeks are already developing a flush. Sirius drains the remainder of his wine, and Lyall immediately pours a refill. Remus doesn’t like the look of amusement in his father’s eyes.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Remus says as he floats the bowls carefully down to land on the table. His mother comes in after him, carrying the tray of roast chicken.

Remus sits next to Sirius, placing his hand gently on Sirius’ thigh under the table.

“Everything alright?” he asks, glancing at his father.

“Of course,” Sirius grins, leaning in before Remus can protest and planting a kiss on his cheek.

Remus’ face is on fire and his insides are shriveling up. Normally _he’s_ the one drinking embarrassing amounts of wine.

“Tuck in, boys,” says Hope, sitting opposite Remus and winking.

Silence settles over the table as food is served, spoons and forks clinking against the good china his mother has set out. The food is delicious, as Remus had expected, but he finds the rising apprehension in his throat is preventing him from properly enjoying it. Once everyone’s plates are full, Hope clears her throat and smiles up at Sirius and Remus feels his stomach clench painfully.

“So, Sirius,” Hope says, cutting into her chicken. “How are you planning on keeping busy, now you’ve not got games to worry about?”

Sirius smiles, sipping some more wine. “Well, I’ve still got training, but will definitely have a lot more free time now, I suppose.” His hand comes to rest on Remus’. “It’s good timing though, what with the move and all.”

Remus chokes on a mouthful of potato.

“Oh, are you moving?” Hope asks as Remus sputters and Sirius thumps him on the back. “I thought your flat was right near the Quidditch thing.”

“The pitch, yes, it is,” Sirius says distractedly, filling Remus’ glass with water and handing it to him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Remus wheezes, gulping water and clearing his throat, eyes watering. He can feel his father’s gaze boring into the side of his head.

“Sirius and I are moving in together,” Remus says, glancing at his father, whose face remains as impassive as ever. “That is, he’s moving in with me.”

“Oh!” Hope says. She’s clearly battling between disappointment that Remus hadn’t told her and excitement for the two of them. “Oh, how wonderful!”

“Thanks, Ma.” Remus attempts a smile. “It’s a recent decision, otherwise I would have told you -”

A derisive snort interrupts him. Hope shoots a glare at Lyall.

“This chicken is delicious!” Sirius says loudly. “I’d love to have a recipe.”

This time it’s Remus’ turn to snort, nearly choking again on his sip of wine.

“Ma, for my sake, please don’t give Sirius any recipes.”

“If I’m going to be at home more, I should learn to cook!” Sirius says indignantly.

“Should you, though?”

“It really is a very easy recipe,” Hope says, grinning at the two of them.

“Ma, he burns toast,” Remus says, waving his fork for emphasis. “ _Every time._ ”

Sirius pouts into his wine glass and Hope tuts, shaking her head at him.

“Honestly, a grown man should know how to toast bread! I’ll need to have a word with your mother.”

Sirius’ smile falters for the tiniest of moments, so fast Remus might have imagined it. A second later he’s winking at Hope, all signs of discomfort gone.

“I’m pretty sure the burnt toast recipe is one of Mum’s. A Black specialty.”

Hope giggles, Lyall refills everyone’s wine, and Remus squeezes Sirius' thigh underneath the table. 

The conversation slips into less emotionally fraught subjects than Sirius' family, and Remus feels himself slowly relaxing. His father even makes comments here and there - mostly about the size of Remus' flat and that it isn't big enough for two. Remus knows he has a point, but it's _his_ flat over _his_ shop that he bought with _his_ own money. He can't bear the thought of leaving it just yet. 

After, Hope (with the help of a slightly tipsy Sirius) clears off the last of the pudding and Lyall pulls out a cigar and a bottle of Scotch.

"So," he says, leaning back in his seat and pulling out a matchbook to light his cigar. "When is your trial date?" 

Remus feels his stomach twist. He takes a burning sip of Scotch. 

"February tenth," he replies. Hope's eyes flicker nervously between him and Lyall. 

"Are you prepared?" 

"Well, actually," Sirius interjects. Remus tries to quell him with a sharp glance, but he plows on. "We've got a meeting later this week with the Head Auror."

Lyall quirks an eyebrow. "Regarding?" 

Sirius opens his mouth but Remus hurries to cut him off. 

"We're hoping we can arrange a plea bargain." 

Hope gasps softly, and Lyall exhales a large cloud of smoke, obscuring his expression. 

"How so?" His voice sounds terse behind the thick blue smoke. 

Remus clenches his hands into fists. He hadn't wanted to get into this with his parents. Hadn't wanted to hear any of their opinions or thoughts or suggestions. He's been so on edge lately, the last moon at the Ministry, the meetings with Greyback…he feels as though all it'll take is one judgmental remark from his father to send him spiralling. 

"The man who bit me is wanted by the Ministry," Remus says carefully. Lyall's eyes narrow and Hope lets out a quickly muffled squeak. A cold wave of dread washes over Remus.

"But of course you already know that," he adds flatly. 

Lyall gazes at Remus for a long moment, jaw set. A clump of ash falls from his cigar, scorching the tablecloth. 

"He found you." It's not a question.

"After I was released." 

"I suppose it was easy enough with your face plastered all over the _Prophet_ ," Lyall says, and his piercing glare moves to Sirius. 

Sirius' brows furrow, but for once he doesn't try to speak up. 

"You understand now, I hope, that we tried to keep you safe," Lyall says. 

There it is. Just as Remus predicted. Lyall's emphasis on _tried_ , on _safe_ . Managing in just one sentence to belittle all of Remus' depression and anxiety at being isolated his entire childhood. Poking at his relationship with Sirius, at his _choice_ to be with someone in the public eye. As though he's brought all of this on himself, ruined all of _their_ hard work, like an ungrateful child. 

Remus barely registers Sirius' hand on his own, or Hope's firm "Lyall…"

"Imagine," Lyall continues, "if we had allowed you to attend school. Imagine that monster coming after an eleven year old boy."

A ringing silence follows his words. Hope appears to be holding her breath. Remus' heart is pounding so loudly in his ears he can hardly hear his own hollow voice. 

" _Allowed_ me?"

"Remus," Sirius says softly, his fingers tight around Remus' wrist. 

"You told me I never got a letter," Remus says. His voice sounds very far away. 

"Remus." Lyall's tone is so familiar in its scolding that Remus flinches. "You can't _honestly_ think that sending a young werewolf into a castle full of hundreds of children could _possibly_ be a good idea."

"But they _offered_ -"

"Yes, they offered, and we declined!" Lyall is shouting now. His cigar lies forgotten, burning the tablecloth. "Forgive me for not putting much stock in Dumbledore's crackpot scheme involving a _shack_ in the middle of Hogsmeade and a goddamn _tree_. Forgive me for not wanting to expose you and hundreds of others to danger!" 

"You could have _told_ me -" 

"And exacerbate your disappointment? The choice was not yours to make." 

Remus realises he's on his feet only once he hears the sharp smack of his chair falling backward to the floor. 

"No," he says coldly. "The choices never _were_ mine, were they?" 

He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, not breathing until he's outside and the icy air stings his throat. 

He strides to the end of the long dirt path, breath coming in great gasping gulps. He fumbles with numb fingers for his pack of fags, nearly choking on the first sharp inhale. 

Remus can't remember how long it took him to stop feeling "less than" after not receiving a Hogwarts letter. Perhaps he never really did. He'd spent long evenings under his comforter, imagining classes, imagining _friends._ A nasty voice would speak up, then: _no one could be friends with a werewolf…with a monster._ He'd fall asleep on a pillow damp with tears. 

"Remus." His mother's voice from behind him jerks him back to the present. His cigarette has burnt down to the stub. He flicks it to the ground and lights another. 

"What," he says flatly, not turning to look at her. 

Something pokes his hand. He looks down to see an envelope, faded brown with age. His heart lodges in his throat and he looks up at Hope. Her eyes are glistening with tears. 

"I couldn't -" she swallows thickly. "I only thought…maybe one day." 

Remus takes the envelope, hands trembling. It's addressed to R.J. Lupin in large, loopy cursive. The red wax seal has already been broken, two decades past, but Remus can still make out the Hogwarts crest. His thumb lingers on the roaring Gryffindor lion. 

Hardly daring to breathe, Remus slips the letter from the envelope. The creases where it's been folded are weak and splitting at the edges. 

The letterhead is emblazoned once more with the school crest, and _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ in large, bold letters. Underneath is Dumbledore's name, and by the time Remus gets to the end of his honorifics he can feel tears sliding down his cheeks. 

Hope slips her hand into his. 

_Dear Mr Lupin,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We are aware of Mr Lupin's circumstances, and would like to arrange a meeting at your earliest convenience to discuss any precautions that must be made._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Remus' shoulders shake as he sobs. Hope pulls him into a tight hug and he drops his face into the crook of her shoulder. 

"Why didn't you tell me," Remus whispers. 

"Oh, love," Hope sighs. "What good could that have done?" 

"I would have _known,"_ Remus pulls away, looks her in the eye. "I would have -" 

"You would have hated us," Hope says, almost pleading. 

_I hated myself_ , Remus wants to scream at her. Wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake and scream until his throat bleeds. 

Instead, he lights another cigarette, turning away from her. 

" _We were only ever thinking of what would be safest for you, Remus_ ," Hope says, switching to Welsh in her swell of emotion. " _The school had never dealt with anyone like you. We didn't want you to be their test subject._ "

Remus exhales smoke through his nostrils and says nothing. He feels extraordinarily tired. Hope's words nudge at the ever present guilt in his stomach, but he can't quite bring himself to be sympathetic. Not yet. 

" _I'm so sorry,"_ Hope whispers. " _For so very many things. We…we were trying our best. That's all we ever did."_

 _"It's okay, Ma,"_ Remus lies. " _I understand_." 

Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind them. Hope pats Remus' arm and turns to leave him. He hears her murmur something to Sirius, hears his low, calm voice. Comforting her. Tears well again in Remus' eyes. 

The second Sirius is within reach Remus grabs him, buries his face in his chest. Sirius wraps Remus' coat around his shoulders. Remus hadn't even realised he was cold until the thick wool cuts off the chill. 

"Fuck today," Sirius declares. 

Remus makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a strangled sob. 

"Can we go home?" he asks, clutching at Sirius' shoulders, Hogwarts letter still crinkled in his hand. He already knows the answer, but for one fleeting moment he can pretend Sirius will lie and fix all his problems. 

"I'm afraid not," says Sirius. "Your Portkey isn't until morning, and I'm convinced your father got me drunk enough _specifically_ so we couldn't make a run for it." 

"Fuck," Remus says with feeling. "My father." 

He pulls back far enough to look up at Sirius. Sirius smiles at him, eyes glinting silver in the moonlight. 

"He went upstairs not long after you left," Sirius says quietly, thumb massaging the nape of Remus' neck. "He looked…upset."

"I bet he was," Remus hisses. "Twenty years of deception discovered. Must be _hard_ for him." 

Sirius says nothing, and Remus feels that same twist of guilt in his gut. 

"Fuck," he says again. "I know." 

"It's okay," Sirius says. 

"No, I -" 

"Let yourself be angry, Remus," Sirius says. "You can deal with other people's emotions later." 

Remus sighs, smiles, and rises up on his toes to kiss Sirius. 

"I love you," he murmurs against Sirius' lips. 

"Mmph," Sirius responds, and for a long while neither of them say anything at all. 

\---

Remus wakes to something warm and wet pressing against his neck. He opens his eyes to see a wild tangle of dark hair and realises Sirius is licking his way down his throat. 

“Morning,” Remus says, gasping slightly as Sirius’ tongue flicks out to lick his collarbone.

“Mmm,” Sirius responds. He’s already half on top of Remus, one leg draped over his hips, pressing into him.

Sirius rises onto his elbows to look down at Remus, eyes half lidded and lips swollen. His hair is a crazy black halo shining in the early morning light. Remus leans up to close the gap between them, grabbing the back of Sirius’ neck to pull him back down.

Sirius moans into Remus’ mouth, shifting so he’s straddling Remus completely. The bed squeaks loudly as he moves and he giggles, jerking his hips sharply to purposefully produce another squeal.

“Fuck’s sake,” Remus says, reaching out a hand to feel around for his wand. “Is that the sound you want my parents to associate you with?” He casts a silencing charm on the room, and for good measure directs another one directly at the bed. Sirius is smirking, and Remus points his wand threateningly. 

“Be careful or you’ll get a _Silencio_ yourself.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Sirius says, running his hands down Remus’ chest.

Remus quirks an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“Sure. Being able to _see_ how turned on I am but not being able to _hear_ it?”

His words send a thrill shooting through Remus’ body and he pulls Sirius close again, lips crashing together. Sirius' erection is pressed hard against his, straining through the thin fabric of their pajama bottoms. Remus moans as Sirius slowly rolls his hips, increasing the friction.

Sirius sits up and Remus lets out a high pitched whine at the sudden loss of contact. Sirius smirks, cheek dimpling, pulling his shirt over his head before reaching over to tug off Remus’. Remus rakes his gaze over Sirius; the dim morning sunlight is highlighting every one of his perfectly formed muscles. Remus runs a hand down the trail of dark hair from his chest down to the bulge in his pants, palming his cock. Sirius bites his lip, cock twitching in Remus’ hand.

The sound of the door to the adjacent room opening makes them both jump. Footsteps leave the room, pause for a few seconds outside Remus’ door, then make their way down the creaking staircase.

Sirius huffs with laughter and Remus releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“I think I just had a heart attack,” Remus says, gripping Sirius’ thighs, heart pounding.

“Definitely adds an element of thrill,” Sirius grins.

“We should probably go down ourselves.”

Sirius plants his hands on Remus’ chest. “Excuse me? I am not done with you, sir.”

A shiver runs through Remus at his words. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “What did you have in mind?”

Sirius leans over him, still smirking, hands meandering down Remus’ stomach to the waistband of his pants. His mouth hovers near Remus’ ear, voice low and breathy.

“I’m going to ride your cock,” he says, licking a line down Remus’ jaw, “until I come all over you.”

Remus shudders, groaning softly. He pushes Sirius’ pants down the tight curve of his ass, fingers clenching into the muscle.

“Would you like that?” Sirius asks breathlessly, pulling off Remus’ pants and freeing his achingly hard cock.

“ _Fuck_ , Sirius…”

“Do you have lube?”

“I,” Remus blinks. “No, I didn’t think to bring any.”

Sirius shakes his head, tutting as he reaches for his wand. “Didn’t think to fuck me in your childhood bedroom? I’m disappointed, Moony.”

Remus sits up quickly, earning an alarmed little yelp from Sirius. Remus tugs at Sirius’ hair, forcing his head back so he can bite Sirius’ exposed throat.

“I hadn’t realised it would be such a turn on for you,” he growls, licking the bite mark. Sirius gasps, fingernails digging into Remus’ back. Remus continues littering bites and licks down Sirius’ collarbone and shoulder, relishing every moan and whine Sirius emits. 

Remus takes Sirius’ wand, lying forgotten on the bed, and casts a lubrication charm. He grabs Sirius’ ass, letting his own cock slide between his cheeks. Sirius rises up on his knees, reaching behind him to position Remus’ cock, and sinks down onto it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sirius groans, using both hands to push Remus back down onto the bed. He gyrates his hips slowly, eyes closed, heavy cock dripping on Remus’ stomach. 

Remus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to just how beautiful Sirius is. Thick lashes and full lips, cutting cheekbones and elegantly sloped nose. All illuminated in the pale morning light like a halo glowing around him. His eyes are fluttering open and they’re dark with desire as he stares down at Remus, lips parted.

Remus grabs him by the waist and bends his knees for leverage, thrusting up hard. Sirius cries out, one hand on Remus’ chest and the other coming to circle around his cock. Remus shifts and pushes in again. Sirius’ eyes roll back and he lets out a soft _oh_ and Remus knows he’s hit his prostate.

Remus doesn’t relent, slamming into him, relishing the contorted look of pleasure on Sirius’ face. Sirius is crying out, fingernails digging into Remus’ chest, stroking himself furiously as Remus thrusts.

“Oh - Remus - _oh fuck_ ,” Sirius gasps. Remus fucks him hard as Sirius comes in sharp spasms, grip tight at the base of his cock. Remus feels a splash of come reach all the way to his chin.

Sirius is moaning, body trembling as Remus continues his thrusting. He drops forward onto his elbows and licks his own come from Remus’ chin and neck. Remus feels his orgasm tighten in his abdomen, finally bursting from him when Sirius whispers “come for me, love,” against his cheek. Sirius kisses him deeply, swallowing his cries.

Remus feels his body grow heavy and relaxed. He trails his fingers over Sirius’ back, humming into their kiss. Sirius rolls to his side, grabbing Remus’ shoulder so he rolls with him, legs entangled. They lie there for a few more minutes, gentle kisses and soft caresses, and Remus wishes he could just Apparate them into their bed at home.

“We should go down,” he sighs, running his thumb over Sirius’ lips. Sirius sucks his thumb into his mouth.

“I think I can go down,” he murmurs around Remus, mischief sparking in his eyes. His hand slides down between them to cup Remus’ cock, still slick from lube and come.

Remus forces himself to roll his eyes and push Sirius’ hand away, ignoring the twitch of interest from his cock.

“Very funny. What time is it, anyway?” He detaches himself from Sirius with difficulty and sits up, looking around for his wand.

“Half seven,” Sirius says, using his own wand to clean them off, still sprawled on the bed.

“Merlin’s pants, why’d you wake up so early?” Remus balks.

“I always wake up early,” Sirius smirks. “Figured if I woke you up too, we could have some fun before reentering the war zone.”

“Fuck," Remus curses, tossing the blankets aside in search of his pants.

Sirius stretches luxuriously across the bed, gazing at Remus through hooded lids. His eyelashes cut sharp shadows across his cheekbones and Remus wants nothing more than to crawl back in bed with him and never leave. 

"They told me I wasn't focused," Sirius says abruptly. 

"What? Who?" Remus tugs his pants free from underneath Sirius' bum.

"Williams." Sirius' voice is quiet and he's averted his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "He said my head wasn't in the game. That…that I'm too distracted, since..."

Since Remus. He doesn't have to say it out loud. Remus swallows past a lump in his throat. 

"What did you say?"

Sirius shrugs. "That it's bullshit. That the League doesn't ever want its players to have a personal life."

Remus says nothing, focusing on pulling his trousers on one leg at a time.

"They did the same thing when my brother died," Sirius says, forced nonchalance in his tone. "Made me take nearly a year off to 'get over it'." 

Remus bites his lip. Sirius has only ever glossed over the circumstances of his brother's death, and mentions it even less than he does his parents. 

"Are they…making you take off? Now?" Remus asks carefully. 

Sirius shrugs again. "He _suggested_ it. Said we'd 'reevaluate' before the International League starts up in the summer." 

"So what does that mean?"

Sirius frowns up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Maybe I should just retire." 

Remus sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand to grab Sirius'. 

"Do you _want_ to retire?" 

"I don't know." Sirius looks over at Remus, eyes wide. His nakedness just makes him seem that much more vulnerable, and Remus crawls over so Sirius' head rests in his lap.

"I don't," Sirius hesitates. "I don't want to have to choose. I don't want to be in a place that _makes_ me choose."

Remus' heart skips a beat at the look in Sirius' eyes. He bends down and kisses his forehead. 

"I'm sorry they're being shitty," he says, brushing stray strands of hair from Sirius' collarbone. 

"I didn't mean to dump this on you now," Sirius says. "I'm sorry, just I couldn't last night, and I -" 

"It's fine," Remus assures him, hoping he sounds convincing. "We'll figure it out. All of it."

Sirius smiles a crooked half smile and turns his head to kiss Remus' palm. 

"Yeah. We'll figure it out."

\---

Breakfast is an awkward affair. Sirius and Hope chat like old friends while Remus pokes listlessly at his pancakes and Lyall chain smokes and sips coffee.

When Sirius accepts his third helping of pancakes from Hope, Remus glares at him pointedly. 

"We should hurry up so I don't miss my Portkey," Remus says, setting down his fork atop his mostly untouched food.

"Right," Sirius agrees loudly. "I'll get the bags." 

Once Sirius is gone from the room, Remus picks up his plate and brings it to the kitchen in a vain attempt to not be alone with his parents. It works for all of ten seconds before he hears the floorboards creak with his father's heavy footsteps and the familiar scent of cigar smoke wafts into the room. 

"Son, I…" Lyall says, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

Remus sets his plate in the sink, heart beating all the way down to his fingertips. He turns to face his father. Lyall's thick brows are drawn together in a frown, his gaze falling somewhere past Remus' shoulder. 

"I'm. I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I expect I was so focused on your safety, that I…may have forgotten about your happiness."

Remus' breath catches in his throat. He's never heard his father speak like this, never heard him apologise for anything. He wonders how much yelling from his mother Lyall had to endure last night. 

"I don't think we made the wrong decision, in not sending you to Hogwarts," Lyall says, eyes flicking to meet Remus'. "But I…apologise. For not telling you." 

"I -" Remus doesn't know what to say. "Thank you."

"You may have gotten yourself in an incredibly stupid situation," Lyall says gruffly, "but that Sirius. He's a good man." 

Remus is absolutely speechless. Lyall pulls a cigarette from his front shirt pocket and lights it with a wooden match. 

"Gave me quite a talking to, last night," he says, puffing serenely on his fag. "Don't let that one go." 

Sirius pokes his head into the kitchen. He's grinning widely and Remus wonders how long he's been standing there, waiting to make an appearance. 

"Ready?" he asks Remus.

"Yeah," Remus replies slowly. Lyall winks at him as he passes, expression as stoic as ever.

"Good talk?" Sirius prompts once they've said their goodbyes and are packing their bags onto the bike. 

"I…it was something."

"Something is better than nothing?" Sirius' dimple is creasing his cheek with his smile. 

Remus grabs the front of Sirius' jacket and pulls him down for a fierce kiss. 

"Thank you," he says once they break apart. "For…everything." 

"Haven't a clue what you're on about," Sirius kisses the tip of Remus' nose and swings his leg over the bike. 

Remus slides on behind him and can't help the smile that breaks out over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who comments/leaves kudos/reads my story! I'm sorry it was such a long wait this time, life has been a bit hectic. I hope you enjoyed this latest installment, which ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but I just had to get little bits of everything in there! Fluff, angst, and sex :P  
> I'm interested to hear what you thought of my Hope and Lyall! Next time we're off to the Auror Offices, and may run into a Mr MacNair yet again...  
> <3


	12. Chapter 12

A cold sweat beads on Remus' neck. He can feel it slide between his shoulder blades and down his spine. He fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt, tugging them so they cover the mangled scars around his wrists. Beside him, Sirius is picking absently at his fingernails, knee jumping with nerves.

The offices nearest them are empty and dark; Remus had requested the meeting be in the evening, so he wouldn’t have to close the shop early yet again. He’d spent most of the day distracted and slightly frantic, with a tingling sense of unease constantly prickling the back of his neck. By the time he locked up he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack and had had to spend ten minutes lying on the cool tile floor of his bathroom, trying to regulate his breathing to counts of eight.

Sirius had insisted on coming, of course. The last few stragglers leaving the office late all inevitably gape at Sirius before doing a double take and staring at Remus. His knee jostles Remus’ and the  _ pick-pick-pick _ of him worrying at his nails is drilling into Remus’ brain and Remus rather thinks he might have preferred coming alone.

Remus adjusts his bag on his lap, lifting the flap briefly to double check his double checking that he’d brought the papers Hermione had prepared for him. She, Harry and Ron had come by earlier this morning to bring him a thick sheaf of colour coded notes. Hermione had gone above and beyond anything Remus had expected; some of the proofs and points she’s brought up actually ignite a small flare of _ hope _ in him.

“Remus?” James stands a few feet away, smiling calmly. “We’re ready for you.”

Sirius jumps to his feet and James shakes his head apologetically. “Just Remus. Sorry, mate.”

“It’s okay,” Remus says automatically. A nervous buzzing is running through his body and the tips of his fingers have gone numb. Sirius smiles tightly and sits down again, nodding. Remus shoots him a smile then follows James down the corridor to his office.

James opens the door and Remus’ eyes immediately lock on to Walden MacNair, sitting comfortably in an armchair by the office’s fireplace. Remus’ gut twists but he works to keep his expression impassive as MacNair’s pale eyes examine him with something like amusement glittering in them.

“Mr Lupin,” he says smoothly. “I must say, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

“MacNair,” Remus says curtly.

James settles in the armchair next to MacNair, offering the wooden seat opposite them to Remus. James sits forward on the edge of his seat, hands clasped loosely between his knees, pointedly ignoring the tension between Remus and MacNair.

“So, Remus,” he says. “What brings you here?”

Remus clears his throat and swallows drily. 

“I have a proposition,” he says.

MacNair’s eyebrows rise dubiously but he says nothing. James smiles encouragingly at Remus.

“I, er,” Remus stumbles over his words. “I believe I may be able to help you - the Ministry - apprehend a wanted criminal. In exchange for leniency on my charges.”

James looks surprised, and glances at MacNair, whose eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his receding hairline.

“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus says slightly too loudly.

MacNair’s eyes narrow and he moves for the first time, leaning towards Remus, nostrils flared.

“And why, pray tell,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “are you in contact with Fenrir Greyback?”

The insinuation in his tone makes Remus bristle, but he tries to remain as calm as possible. James is frowning and twirling his wand absently between his fingers.

“Greyback is the one who bit me,” says Remus, noting the twin flashes of alarm that cross over both James and MacNair’s faces. “He found me, after I was...exposed, in the  _ Prophet _ .”

“Mr Lupin,” MacNair says, sneering. “I find this extraordinarily hard to believe. Greyback’s attacks are notoriously bloody and fatal to any extraneous family members, not to mention a public spectacle.”

“Unless he fails,” Remus says, heart beating fast against his ribcage. “Why would you have any reason to hear about the failed attacks? My father managed to get us away before Greyback could take me, and has kept us hidden ever since. You can ask him, you can use a Pensieve, or Veritaserum, or -”

“There will be no need for that,” MacNair says sharply, looking positively murderous.

“Remus,” James speaks up, his voice much calmer than MacNair’s. “What did Greyback say to you?”

“He wanted me to join them. His pack.”

There is silence for a long moment. MacNair is appraising Remus with open distaste, and James appears to be thinking very hard, wand spinning faster than ever between his knees.

“I can find him,” Remus says, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. “I can lead you to him, to his pack.”

“So if I am to understand you correctly,” MacNair says, “you wish to lead Ministry officials into a den of feral werewolves? All, of course, in your own self interest?”

Remus feels his heart sink.

“Well we wouldn’t go on the full moon,” James says acerbically. “According to the registry, Greyback doesn’t even have a wand. Are you saying you don’t think a team of Aurors could take him?”

“You haven’t managed to up until now,” MacNair shoots back.

“Well  _ you _ haven’t - “

“The morning after the full moon is best,” Remus raises his voice slightly over James’ retort. “It’s when we - they - are weakest. Recuperating, vulnerable.”

“And you believe Greyback will welcome you with open arms,” MacNair’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“I do,” Remus says honestly. “If I take out my tracker.”

MacNair laughs outright at this, a loud wheeze that sounds almost like a cough.

“Mr Lupin, this is becoming more and more ludicrous,” he says, crooked teeth bared as he grins. “Send you off to Greyback’s pack, relinquishing your tracker - would you like me to write you a Hogwarts letter as well, while we’re fulfilling all your wildest fantasies?”

Remus grits his teeth, trying his hardest to control his urge to lunge across the room and shove MacNair’s head into the fire behind him.

“The Aurors have a tracking team, don’t they, James?” he says. “They have ways of keeping tabs on people that  _ don’t _ involve shoving foreign objects into peoples’ bodies.”

“Our trackers are most efficient when dealing with large quantities,” MacNair says, not sounding the least bit put off by Remus’ jab. “You can’t expect us to employ a team of wizards to constantly upkeep tracking charms on every werewolf in Britain, can you?”

“It could work,” James says, ignoring MacNair completely. “But it’s extremely risky. Remus, are you sure - “

“I want all the charges dropped.” He looks directly at MacNair as he says it. MacNair opens his mouth to respond but Remus cuts him off.

“It’s just barely on the verge of legal to charge someone so harshly for crimes they have no hope of refuting. I can’t prove that I’m innocent, but  _ you _ can’t prove that I’m guilty. Sentencing me - anyone - to Azkaban for crimes you cannot prove they committed solely because they are a werewolf is discriminatory and unjust.”

Remus’ heart is beating a mile a minute as he recites what Hermione drilled into him that very morning. MacNair looks positively apoplectic with rage, while James is beaming. Remus pulls the sheaf of papers from his bag and flips open to the orange coloured tab. He hands it to MacNair.

“In addition,” he goes on, nudging the papers against MacNair’s leg until he relents and grabs it. “The current treatment of werewolves outside of the full moon  _ is _ illegal. Werewolves are Class A Dangerous creatures, however they are  _ only _ classified as such during their transformation on the full moon. Any violence inflicted on a werewolf while not transformed is considered an act of violence on a  _ human _ and thus  _ illegal _ .”

He feels like he’s staring down a particularly nasty hippogriff. When MacNair speaks, his voice is practically a growl.

“Mr Lupin. These are standard practises in many countries, and have been such for centuries. If it were really so horribly illegal as you  _ claim _ , why on earth has no one spoken up until now?”

“Standard practises in many  _ third world  _ countries. Britain is horribly behind other first world countries and one of the only ones with such brutality.” Remus feels his confidence slowly building, his voice is stronger, more sure. “As for why no one has spoken up...werewolves are so horribly discriminated against that it’s nearly impossible for most of them to find jobs. I was lucky in that I managed to keep my condition secret for so long, but most people don’t have as much luck as I do. As much support.” He glances at James and offers a tentative smile. 

“Of course,” he turns back to MacNair, “the choice is yours. If you are willing to give up a lead on potentially apprehending Greyback just to prosecute me, then by all means. I think any barrister worth their salt would be interested in defending my case. Not to mention all the media support and attention I’ve been receiving would help in my favour...though I rather think it might reflect poorly on the Ministry.”

Remus leans back in his seat, certain the hammering of his heart can be heard across the room. He doesn’t break eye contact with MacNair, whose stony expression is belied by the twitching vein above his eye. After a long moment, MacNair all but tosses Remus’ papers back at him, and stands up, smoothing down the front of his robes.

“I shall consider your offer, Mr Lupin. Expect an owl in the coming days.”

And with that, he sweeps out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

“Bloody hell,” James says, standing up as well and stepping forward to pull Remus up from his seat and into a half sort of hug. “That was  _ amazing _ , Remus!”

The door bursts open and Sirius flies in, eyes wide and anxious.

“Well?!” he demands, gaze flitting frantically between James’ jubilant face and Remus’ shocked demeanour.

“He’ll think about it,” Remus says quietly. “But, I think, I mean…”

“It would be stupid of him not to take it!” Sirius says emphatically.

“Listen, Remus,” James says a bit more seriously. “What you’re proposing is incredibly dangerous for you. I have no doubt that my Aurors can take Greyback down in the right circumstances, but it would be asking a hell of a lot from you. Getting into their good graces, spending the full moon with them…”

Ironically, the full moon is the part Remus is worried about least. The idea of spending a full moon outside again, to feel grass and dirt beneath his paws, to be  _ free _ …

“I know,” he says to James. “But I think it’s the best chance you’ve got to get him.”

James nods. “There will be a lot of planning, a lot of precautions we’ll have to take. We’ll have to make sure we think of every angle so you’re not put in any more danger than necessary.”

“I understand.”

James hugs him again, releasing him to enthuse to Sirius about how  _ bloody amazing _ Remus was. Remus smiles and listens to their banter and can’t quite believe that he  _ did it _ and that it might be his  _ chance _ and it might change  _ everything _ for werewolves in Britain and he might be  _ free _ and - 

“Moony?” Sirius’ tender touch to his jaw breaks him from his thoughts. Remus hitches a smile onto his face.

“I’m fine. Knackered, though.”

“Right,” Sirius says, businesslike. “Let’s go home. James, let us know what happens, yeah?”

“Of course. I expect we’ll have a decision by tomorrow.”

Sirius thanks him and they leave, walking towards the great golden lifts so they can Floo home. Remus feels rather like he’s sleepwalking, his mind so full of buzzing thoughts and scenarios that he hardly registers where they’re walking. He hears Sirius speaking to him but can’t quite make out the words.

Suddenly, they’re stepping through the Floo into his flat. Remus takes one great, shuddering breath and feels tears spill down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says before Sirius can even say anything. “I’m sorry, I just need a - need a moment.”

Sirius bites his lip, nods, and heads to the kitchen; Remus can hear the clattering as he puts a kettle on for tea. Remus collapses heavily onto the bed, ignoring the twinge of protest from his hip.

His last interaction with Greyback is playing across his closed lids like a film. Greyback’s voice echoing through his head, his fingers on Remus’ wrist. Greyback is feral, wild,  _ other _ . But he is intelligent; he’s managed to evade capture up until now. He has who knows how many dozens of werewolves at his command. How can Remus possibly hope to get out of this situation alive?

Remus reaches up and touches the tracker pulsing in his arm. He can feel it almost constantly, a dull aching, an occasional vibration, the edges of it pulling at his skin. He can’t quite bring himself to believe that the Ministry will comply with all of his demands, but if there’s even a  _ chance _ ...a chance that future werewolves won’t have to suffer the silver shackles and weeks on end in a cold, damp cell...well, that should be worth all the risk.

Shouldn’t it?

\---

“Just make sure you always put the coins in the same spot - Knuts on the left, Sickles down the middle, Galleons to the right. Otherwise it’s easy to make a mistake when you’re handing out change.”

“Right, okay.”

Remus watches in bemusement as Dahlia, the girl he’s hired to help in the shop, jots down his every word in a small spiral notebook.

“And if anyone tries to pay you in Galleons for something that costs less than a Sickle, you politely ask them for smaller change. I’d rather not make the sale than empty out my whole till.”

Dahlia nods fervently, adding a note and underlining the words NO GALLEONS twice.

“Right, let’s go over the layout of the shop.”

Remus walks her through the shelves, making sure to point out the smaller sections that only take up one shelf or even half, so that she won’t miss anything. He’d done two days of interviews before finding Dahlia, a bright young Ravenclaw only one year past graduation. She seems incredibly eager, and had often spent entire afternoons in the shop during Hogsmeade weekends while at school. As an added advantage, she is Muggleborn and has extensive knowledge of Muggle fiction. Remus takes pride in his Muggle fiction section, and it was important to him to find someone who can properly understand it and advise customers.

“Newspapers and magazines are delivered every morning,” Remus motions vaguely towards the front door. “And anything we don’t sell that day we return to the  _ Prophet _ to get a refund. Any questions?”

“Can we order a book for a customer if we don’t have it in stock?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Remus says, heading towards the register and pulling out a thick binder from the cabinet underneath. “Here are all the different order forms, we just fill it out and send it to the publishers. Take the customer’s details, and let them know when the book arrives.”

The door to the shop opens, and Remus smiles at Dahlia encouragingly.

“They’re all yours. I’ll be right here.”

Dahlia tucks her notebook into her pocket and approaches the customer, a young gangly wizard who asks where the Advanced Herbology section is.

“Any book in particular?” Dahlia asks as she leads him towards the Herbology shelves.

“Er, no. I’m looking for something about nocturnal fungi. It’s for my Potions Mastery.”

“Ooh, interesting!” Dahlia says genuinely. “Let’s see what we’ve got…”

Remus smiles and settles on his chair behind the counter, feeling more and more confident in his choice of employee.

The door to the flat opens and shuts, and Sirius’ heavy footsteps come down the creaking staircase. He’s dressed in his workout gear, too-tight leggings and all. Remus should probably insist he find some loose joggers to wear instead, if he’s going to be in and around the shop. Although if he’s honest with himself, he’s not sure how much the customers  _ really _ mind.

“How’s she doing?” Sirius asks as he approaches the counter, tying his hair up on top of his head.

“First customer, but she seems to be doing well,” Remus replies, watching Dahlia chat easily with the young man.

“Of course she is, she’s a Ravenclaw,” Sirius snorts.

“Hey,” Remus says, affronted. “I may very well have been a Ravenclaw, too.”

Sirius shakes his head and drops a kiss to Remus’ forehead. “Nah, you’re a Gryffindor through and through.”

Remus rolls his eyes. 

"So when did James say they wanted to see you?" Sirius asks. 

"We haven't settled yet," Remus says bitterly. "MacNair keeps insisting on mid afternoon. I can't leave Dahlia alone already, it's only her first day!"

"I'll be here," Sirius says, not even a hint of mocking in his words. "We can manage together."

Remus laughs. He can't help it. 

"When was the last time you read a book?" he teases. 

"Does Witch Weekly count?" 

"It most assuredly does not."

Dahlia waves at the customer as he leaves, empty handed, and turns to Remus with a crestfallen face. 

"What did I do wrong?" she asks, pulling out her notebook. 

"Well, you can't win them all," Remus says, trying to cover up the fact that he hadn't really been listening. "But you were helpful and polite, so he may yet return." 

Dahlia scribbles something down in her notebook, brushing her dark hair behind her ear in frustration. 

"Hi, Dahlia," says Sirius, grinning his charming grin at her and holding out a hand. "Pleased to meet you." 

"Oh, er, hello," she says, gripping his fingers briefly. 

"Don't you think we could run this place?" Sirius insists. "Just the two of us?" 

Dahlia's eyes widen in alarm. "Us? Me and you? Sorry, do you, I mean, er, are you a big…reader?"

Sirius pouts and Remus snorts with laughter, point proven. Sirius shoves his sunglasses on and stalks to the front door. 

"You two will be very happy together!" he calls before the door shuts behind him. 

"I'm sorry!" Dahlia exclaims. "Did I offend him?" 

Remus waves a hand dismissively. "He's just a drama queen. Now, let's go over exchanges and returns." 

\---

_ Something skitters through the underbrush. He pads after it, breath clouding in the icy air. Leaves crunch and twigs snap as he pursues the flicking tail, always one tree ahead, just out of reach. _

_ He loses sight at the base of a great oak. Has it gone, burrowed to safety? He paws at the hard dirt, sniffing, searching. A crow caws overhead but he ignores it, intent on his furry prey. He has one paw completely in the dirt; the scent grows stronger. _

_ The crow caws insistently, louder and closer. He looks up to snarl and scare it away. The crow leaps from its branch and dives, sharp beak open in a vicious scream, talons outstretched, lunging for his eyes. _

Remus wakes with a gasp, sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. He'd accidentally fallen asleep on the sofa and his  _ Lumos _ has gone out; orange light from the streetlamps outside casts sharp shadows along the wall.

Remus sits up, twisting the crick in his neck and attempting to calm his breathing. 

"Fuck," he breathes, wiping sweat from his forehead. The sense of unease from his dream lingers, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He swallows hard; he knows this feeling.

He walks to the window and peers down into the street. There's no one there, at least that he can see. He curses again and strides towards the door, grabbing his coat and a pack of fags before slamming the door behind him. 

Remus stands outside his shop, peering both ways down the street. He lights a fag on an inhale; he hasn't needed to use his wand for a while now.

He doesn't know why he's hesitating. He knows where they are. He zips his coat against the night chill and makes his way to the Hog's Head, shoes crunching on the gravel road. 

It's one of the rare moments where Remus is glad Sirius is back at his own apartment. He'd gone to pack up the last of his things and work out the ending of his contract with his landlord. Remus knows that were he here, he'd object strongly to Remus going off to follow a random werewolf into a dingy pub. 

But, Remus reasons, this  _ is  _ what he'd promised the Ministry he'd do. They'd worked through all of the red tape in the past couple of weeks, the last bit of which involved Remus submitting to having multiple tracking spells put on him until further notice. Besides, the full moon is approaching. Remus is loathe to have to spend another one in the Ministry cells.

He stubs out his fag outside the Hog's Head. The tugging in his chest is stronger, prickling on the back of his neck almost a full grown itch.

Remus sees him immediately. He's young, yellow blonde hair buzzed close to his scalp, which is crisscrossed with thick scars. He's nursing a pint of light golden ale. His eyes flick up to meet Remus' and a crooked smirk crosses his scarred face.

Remus orders a Scotch at the bar. He downs half of it before crossing the room to sit opposite the werewolf. 

"Who are you?" he asks without preamble. 

"Liam," he responds, sipping his ale, eyes never leaving Remus'. 

"Why are you here?" 

Liam shrugs one shoulder. "Thought he told you we were waiting." 

"Waiting? Or stalking."

"Does it matter?" Liam leans forward on his elbows, finger circling the rim of his pint glass. "We know you're coming with us either way."

"How's that?" Remus takes a long swig of Scotch, hoping it masks the trembling in his hands.

Liam's lip curls. "You're not one to be caged. You've known too much freedom for that." 

A scathing reply lies on Remus’ tongue, bitter with resentment. He swallows it. If they want to presume to know him, then that’s all the better for him, in the long run. He  _ wants _ them to believe he would join them.

He scratches seemingly absently at the scars on his wrists. Liam’s gaze drops as he knew it would, and the same anger he’d seen in Greyback flashes in Liam’s eyes.

“They cut down to the bone,” he says quietly. “Ten days without treatment.”

A snarl rises in Liam’s throat. He pulls aside the collar of his loose sweater to bare his shoulder to Remus. A circular red scar is branded into his upper arm, a jagged white line running through it. Remus reaches for his own tracker instinctively, fingers clenching against the hard metal plate.

“I know,” Liam says, readjusting his sweater. “I know what those fuckers are capable of.”

“How did you -” Remus’ throat feels tight. He swallows the last of his Scotch.

“Cut it out. It’s deeper than you think.” Liam leans back in his seat. He stares at Remus for a long moment before he says, “I can help you.”

“I -” Remus hesitates. 

He hadn’t fully considered, when he’d left the flat earlier, that he might not be coming back. He thinks of Sirius returning tomorrow morning to an empty flat, no note to be found. They’d talked about it, of course, Sirius would know where he’d gone. If he showed his indecision now, even if he asked to pop by the flat to pick up a few things, Liam would most likely be suspicious. As much as Remus had accused them of stalking him, he wasn’t actually sure he would get another chance like this.

Heart thudding against his ribcage, Remus nods at Liam. 

“Alright. Show me.”

\---

Liam leads him to the alleyway behind the Hog’s Head, where another werewolf is waiting. A female, younger even than Liam with short spiky hair and a sharp smile. Remus is reminded of Tonks, though there’s none of Tonks’ humour and good nature in this woman’s grin.

“Hello, handsome,” she says. “We was wonderin’ when you’d show up.”

“Well, here I am,” Remus says drily. He doesn’t like the way she’s looking him up and down.

“Always liked a silver wolf, me,” she purrs, running a finger down his arm. Remus suppresses a shudder.

“Lay off, Ev,” Liam cuts in, pulling a short knife from the pocket of his jeans.

Ev pouts but drops her hand. Remus feels slightly nauseous.

“C’mere,” Liam says to Remus. “Jacket off.”

Remus obliges, rolling up the sleeve on his shirt to expose his tracker. Ev lets out a low whistle of approval and Remus does his best to ignore her.

Liam slices into his arm, pressing deep. Blood wells immediately, dripping down his arm. Liam digs with the point of his knife into the flesh underneath the tracker and Remus gasps at the pain. As the tracker is slowly wedged out of his arm, Remus can see that it’s grown  _ roots _ . Thin metal tendrils extend from the disk down into the muscle, lacing into his veins. Liam snaps them with his knife, and by the time he’s fished it all out completely, Remus’ vision has gone white at the edges and he sways slightly on the spot.

“Fuck,” he says weakly. Liam drops the bloody tracker to the ground and crushes it easily beneath the heel of his boot.

“And they call  _ us _ the savages,” Liam growls. He grips Remus’ shoulder tightly. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Remus nods slowly, blinking back dizziness.

“Great. Ev?”

Remus follows Liam’s gaze over his shoulder. He catches sight of Ev raising a large, rusty pipe from the alley floor, grinning maniacally.

A whoosh as it swings, a loud crack, and the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the cliffhanger :O


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence, blood, vomiting, choking

Remus wakes to a sour, metallic taste in his mouth and an overwhelming throbbing in his head. His whole body feels weak and drained and every inch of him aches. Something cold and heavy lies on the nape of his neck. He blinks his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim lighting of whatever room he's being held in. As the blurriness recedes, he notices the stone walls and dirt beneath him. He's in a cave.

He moves his right hand and winces at the pain. The wound from digging out his tracker pulses with a deep pain, triggered by his movement. He drops his hand and tries again with his left, reaching up to discover a rough iron collar circling his neck. It’s thick and unnaturally cold; touching it makes his fingers shiver and something about it reminds him of the effects of silver.

A wave of nausea overwhelms him. Remus turns his head to the side and retches weakly, body trembling with the effort. The hand he raises to wipe his chin comes away smeared with blood. 

He leans his head back against the wall, trying his best to breathe deeply. He needs to assess the situation, and he can’t do that properly whilst shivering uncontrollably and vomiting.

Remus can’t feel his wand in his pocket. He assumes it’s been taken from him. But he’s done wandless  _ Accio _ s numerous times, and this close to the full moon it should be even easier. He closes his eyes and attempts to push past the pain and  _ focus _ .

Nothing. No tug on his magic. No channeling through his veins, rushing down his arms. 

Maybe it’s the head trauma? He tries harder, breathing sharply through his nose, face screwed up in pain, fingers scrabbling at the dirt beneath him.

Remus gasps and coughs as he releases the effort, wheezing and hacking up droplets of blood. Sweat trickles down his face and his chest is heaving. He scratches irritably under the iron collar, and the sudden realisation punches him in the gut.

The collar is blocking his magic. It must be. They’ve kidnapped him, taken his wand, taken his  _ magic _ . Remus can’t even imagine what kind of threat they think he could be, to go through such measures. Although, he realises, he isn’t actually tied or chained up in any way. The collar has no lead or chain, but there is a thick ring where one could be attached. The thought of having no magic, of being completely and utterly  _ helpless _ sends panic shooting through him. What’s worse is that the collar most likely cut off all of James’ tracking spells. James had assured Remus that in the worst case scenario (which appears to be unfolding at a rapid rate), they could track him using some of his hair and his wand.

Which would be fine, if he had any fucking idea where his wand  _ was _ .

Remus braces himself against the wall and slowly, gingerly, pushes himself to his feet. He grimaces and takes a stumbling step forward. The cave he’s in seems to be a dead end with only one way out. He takes step after shuffling step, head pounding. The very literal light at the end of the tunnel grows brighter and he squints as he nears the opening of the cave.

The crisp winter air is a soothing balm in the foulness of his mouth and he gulps it down gratefully, screwing his eyes shut against the glare of the sunlight. He takes long, deep breaths. Gradually, his heart stops beating a tattoo against his ribcage, and the anxiety buzzing in his body recedes.

He opens his eyes. The cave he just emerged from is embedded in a high, stony cliff that Remus can’t see the top of. In front of him, all around him, are pine trees, thick and rising up into the sky. The heady scent of the forest fills him with a sense of nostalgia that aches.

Something rustles off to his right. He tenses, looks, and sees a woman stepping out of the brush. She’s wearing heavy furs over a ragged flowery dress, and her feet are bare. She glances at Remus, smiles briefly, then continues on her way, disappearing behind a tree to his left.

Remus takes another bracing breath, then follows.

There are more people in the forest, all in various haphazard stages of dress. Most of them look up at him, some with more interest than others. A low hum of conversation surrounds him, but no one speaks to him. Remus takes small comfort in the fact that the prickling on the back of his neck that he’s come to associate with other werewolves is nowhere to be seen. They all seem to be more wary of  _ him _ .

He steps out into a small clearing and notices a familiar figure leaning casually against a large maple tree.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” Ev says, grinning and baring sharp teeth. She taps ash from the end of a cigarette and winks at him. “Thanks for the smokes, love.”

“How’s the head?” asks the man next to her. He’s tall and incredibly thin, with a mop of unruly red hair and scars crisscrossing his face in a vaguely familiar pattern.

He smiles at Remus’ frown.

“Did you really think I’d walk into Hogsmeade with my real face? I’m a wanted man, Lupin, same as you.”

It takes a moment for his words to penetrate the fog of Remus' mind. It's Liam.  _ Wanted man _ . The tracker. Remus’ hair stands on end as he remembers the roots embedded in his arm, the twinging  _ snap _ as Liam cut through each one.

“I like it,” Ev says, eyeing the collar around his neck. “Suits you.”

“Why -” Remus’ throat protests and he coughs violently before continuing. “What could I possibly do to you?”

“Not everything’s about  _ you _ , love,” Ev sneers. She extinguishes the fag on the palm of her hand and grins with relish at the disgust on Remus’ face. “We don’t want  _ them _ findin’ us.”

Remus’ stomach drops to his feet. They know. They know and they did it on purpose, to cut off any tracking spells. He tries his hardest to keep his face impassive. He still wants them to believe him. The more they believe him, the less of a threat he is.

“Well, can you take it off now?” he asks irritably. “It’s not like I’ve got my wand, anyway.”

Ev laughs, a shrieking noise that sends gooseflesh rising on Remus’ arms.

“None of us have got wands,” she sneers, “and we all still need the collar from time to time.”

She saunters over to him, hips swinging, and Remus resists the urge to take a large step backwards. Ev reaches up and strokes the wound on the side of his head, smiling fiendishly at his instinctive flinch.

“‘Sides,” she says, “I threw yours into the Thames. You won’t be needin’ that here.”

“Ev,” Liam says sharply. “C’mon. He said to bring him in once he was up.”

Liam grabs Remus' arm and pulls him through the forest, Ev trailing behind. The gravity of the situation weighs on Remus' stomach like lead. No tracking spells, no wand, no  _ magic _ . He has no illusions as to who Liam’s  _ he _ is. Remus has no option but to be as convincing as possible, to make sure Greyback  _ really _ believes him. Otherwise...a shudder runs through him. He doesn’t want to think about the otherwise.

They lead him to another cave, nowhere near the first one he’d woken up in, and at least three times larger. The cave is garishly decorated with a multitude of various furs, some still with the respective animal’s head attached. Remus averts his gaze from a row of squirrel pelts, all with black holes for eyes and gaping, dead mouths. A deer carcass lies at the mouth of the cave, covered in flies that disperse in a frantic cloud when Remus passes by.

His heightened sense of smell takes in the stench of the cave and he nearly retches again. Sour and fetid and damp, it fills his nose and makes his mouth water.

“It’s good to see you again, Remus Lupin.”

Greyback’s massive form stands near the back of the cave, silhouetted by a flickering fire behind him. His eyes gleam yellow in the dim light. Liam prods Remus in the small of the back and he stumbles forward, foot catching on the corner of a fur lying stretched across the ground. Remus glances down and his heart seizes in his chest; it’s a  _ wolf _ pelt.

“No one healed your wounds?” Greyback says as Remus steps over the dead wolf, sounding for all the world like a disapproving father. “Liam, is that any way to treat a guest?”

Liam lets out a low growl and grabs Remus abruptly by the throat. Remus chokes, splutters, and tries to struggle away from the firm grip when he feels something wet against the aching side of his head and realises Liam is  _ licking _ the gash splitting his temple. His saliva rolls thickly down the side of Remus’ face and Remus gags. A tingling sensation is spreading over the wounded area and the pulsing pain eases with each lick of Liam’s rough tongue.

After a long, uncomfortable minute, Liam releases him and Remus gasps sharply. Greyback’s grin is wide and full of sharp, glistening teeth.

“You may go,” he says to Liam, not taking his eyes off of Remus. Liam’s footsteps recede behind them, and Remus distantly hears Ev snicker.

“Feeling better?” Greyback asks Remus.

Remus wants to sob, wants to scream, wants to turn and run and run until his feet bleed. The collar around his neck feels incredibly heavy, and it takes all his dwindling strength to remain upright.

“Yes, thank you,” he manages.

“Remus Lupin,” Greyback says, his smile wider than ever. He’s close enough now that Remus can count the scars lining his face, can smell his rotten breath. “I’m so happy you’ve decided to join us.”

Remus says nothing. He sways slightly where he stands.

“It’s much easier, this way,” Greyback says. His tone is light and carefree, almost as though he’s discussing the weather. “Although I very much would have liked to make an example out of you, this is, in its way, just that much more delicious.”

Remus’ mind feels cloudy and weak from the smell of the cave, the buzzing magic of Liam’s healing, the thick, oppressive weight of the collar hanging from his neck. He blinks as he tries to process Greyback’s words.

“Poor thing,” Greyback murmurs. His fingers pinch Remus’ chin roughly, force his face up. He leers at Remus and the scent of him sends Remus' head spinning and his eyes watering.

"So beautifully submissive," Greyback says, sharp fingernails digging into Remus' jaw. "It's a shame I can't keep you."

Remus attempts feebly to wriggle from Greyback's grasp. The werewolf laughs, loud and harsh, and his fingers slip to Remus' throat, still sore from the bruises Liam left there. Remus gasps desperately for breath and Greyback squeezes, cutting off his air completely. 

"Did you really think," Greyback says, tone still light and conversational, "that I would let you wander in here, no questions asked?"

Remus scrabbles weakly at Greyback's fingers. Blackness eats at the corners of his vision.

"I've seen your life, Remus Lupin," he whispers, hot breath stinging Remus' eyes. "You are the Wizard's dog. They can beat you, chain you, starve you, and still you return to them on all fours, licking the dirt from their boots."

His voice swims vaguely past the fog filling Remus' brain. His body has gone limp, the only thing keeping him upright is Greyback’s firm grip.

Greyback releases him suddenly and Remus crumples to the ground, drawing in rattling, wheezing breaths through his swollen throat. His elbow is bleeding where he hit the ground, and his head is rushing, spinning frantically as he takes in oxygen.

_ Greyback is going to kill me _ . 

Terror shoots through him like lightning. Trembling, he pushes himself to his knees and looks up at Greyback. The werewolf is  _ smiling _ , gazing down at Remus triumphantly. 

"You're wrong," Remus croaks hoarsely. 

Greyback's eyebrows rise. "Am I?" 

"I — I left them."

Greyback crouches down next to Remus, head tilted with amusement. 

"Of course you did, pup," he says, still smiling. "And I'm sure if we were to pay a visit to the Ministry we wouldn't find the Auror's office scrambling to refresh their tracking charms, would we?" 

Remus shakes his head, wincing at the pain in his neck.

"No, I left. I —" 

"And if I were to buy tomorrow's  _ Prophet _ ," Greyback cuts him off. "Would I find an article about the tragic breakup of Misters Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?"

"I —" 

He can't breathe, can't think. Greyback's stench is choking him as effectively as if he were still gripping his throat. He needs something, anything that will make Greyback believe him.

"I — he used me," Remus gasps, and the words hurt as much as the searing pain in his neck. "For — more fame, exposure."

Greyback's eyes narrow, his smile fading quickly into a frown.

"He was the one — leaked to the press." Remus feels blood, hot and wet, drip from his nose. He reaches up a shaking hand to wipe it away. 

"Is that so?" Greyback says quietly.

Remus nods, not daring to break Greyback's gaze. 

"I left him," Remus whispers. He blinks rapidly as his eyes fill with stinging tears. He doesn't know if they're because he hasn't blinked in over a minute or because of the weight of the situation, but he'll use them as best he can. 

"I left him and — and I'm here. I'm —" His breath hitches in a sob.

Greyback's smile is back. He rises to his feet and holds out a hand for Remus to take. Remus hesitates, swallows thickly, and takes the proffered hand. Greyback hauls him to his feet as easily as if he were a child's doll. 

"You are an interesting man, Remus Lupin," Greyback says. "And I am nothing if not reasonable. You will spend the Moon with us. If, by the end of the week, there is no news of your supposedly sudden disappearance, then you will die."

The casual, matter of fact tone sends a cold pit of dread straight to Remus' stomach. There will be no news, no article. And now, with the collar blocking his magic, no tracking spells. Greyback knows this. He can see it in the sharp gleam of his eye, the quirk of his smile. He's humouring Remus, playing with him like a cat would a mouse before biting it in two.

"Go," Greyback commands, already turning away from Remus. "Find Rhian. She will tend to your wounds."

Remus doesn't hesitate. He turns and exits the cave as fast as he can, stumbling once more over the horrifying wolt pelt.

He waits until he has the cover of trees to shield him from Greyback's cave before he collapses to his knees, shaking uncontrollably. The cold air dries the blood and tears on his face and burns his throat as he takes in rattling breaths. Fresh, hot tears fall from his eyes to soak into the dirt beneath him.

_ I am going to die. _

The thought crashes into him and he curls in on himself, sobs wracking his body.

_ I am going to die, and they won't ever find me _ . He has no wand, no magical signature for them to latch on to. Greyback will kill him and he will be just a body in the woods, decomposing slowly beneath the soft soil.

He reaches for the iron collar, tugs at it, desperate to find some weakness, a latch, something that will give. He raises his head and tries pulling the collar off over his jaw, crying out at the pain in his throat.

"I don't think it works like that," says a soft, high voice.

Remus looks up to see a young woman standing before him, gazing down at him thoughtfully. Her hair surrounds her face in a fluffy, white blonde cloud that almost glows in the sunlight filtering through the treetops. Her pale green eyes examine him not unkindly, and she smiles slightly when he catches her eye. She opens a large leather satchel hanging from her side and pulls out a long swatch of bandaging. 

"I'd been told there was a man who needed healing," she says, kneeling down next to Remus. "I'll assume that's you?"

Her voice is warm, with a familiar Welsh lilt that reminds him so much of home that he tears up again.

" _ Yes," _ Remus says in Welsh. " _ Thank you. _ "

An odd expression passes over her face and she glances up past Remus quickly before smiling at him again. 

" _ Fenrir doesn't like when we don't speak English _ ," she says quietly. She dabs what Remus assumes to be antiseptic into the roll of bandage and wraps it around the throbbing wound in his upper arm.

" _ I'll bet he doesn't,"  _ Remus mutters darkly, wincing as she tightens the bandage. " _ You're Rhian?"  _

"Aye," she responds, tilting his chin up gently to examine the bruising on his neck. Remus winces even though her fingers are gentle; every movement sends pain lancing through his throat.

Rhian closes her eyes, frowning slightly, fingertips just barely brushing his skin. He feels a tingling not dissimilar to when Liam had licked him and the tightness of his throat relaxes and fades. 

"There's only so much I can do when you've got the collar on," she says, stroking his neck and sending another healing pulse of magic through her fingers. 

"Can't you take it off?" Remus asks. He hopes he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels. 

Rhian shakes her head, still smiling kindly. "Only whoever put it on you can. And even if I could, I couldn't, really."

She glances significantly behind Remus again, and Remus' heart sinks. They all know he's Greyback's prisoner. None of them will help him. He looks at the young woman, her easy smile and warm green eyes. She doesn't seem to hate him, or fear him. Just pity him.

" _ Do you like it here?"  _ he asks her. 

Rhian hums thoughtfully as she packs the bandages back into her leather bag. 

" _ It's all I've ever known." _

She stands and holds a hand out to Remus. Remus takes it and hauls himself to his feet, smiling faintly when his head doesn't throb at the movement.

"Come," Rhian says, gripping his hand tighter and pulling him forward through the forest. "I'll show you where you can wash up."

——

Rhian stays with him as he washes himself in a nearby stream, lending him her magic to warm the frigid water. Remus strips shamelessly and sinks into the water. Blood and grime cloud around him as he scrubs his skin and hair. Every inch of his body aches dully, despite Rhian's healing, and for a few minutes he does nothing but lie prone in the gently steaming water. 

His mind is strangely empty after the panic and terror of earlier. He has no idea what he's meant to do. No idea how he'll survive the week. There's nothing he can do, so he does nothing. He lets the water lap over his body and hopes that somehow, James will find some way to track him down.

"I've tried to clean your clothes," Rhian's voice breaks through his thoughts. "It's got rid of the smell, anyway, even if the stains are still there."

"Thank you." 

Remus steps out of the water, feeling only a vague, distant embarrassment at standing naked before a woman he doesn't know. Rhian pulls a rough, torn cloth from her bag and holds it out to him. 

"It's all I've got, but it'll get you dry."

He dries himself quickly and dresses. His clothes are stiff, as if they've been laundered and lain to dry in the sun, but they no longer smell of sweat. Or Greyback. He glances at Rhian, who’s sitting with her back to him, humming pleasantly, and a wave of gratitude rushes over him.

“Thank you,” Remus says again. “I — I really appreciate it.”

Rhian turns to him, reaching a small hand out to grasp his.

“We’re all family here,” she says, and a fraction of the weight on Remus’ chest lifts with her smile. 

——

Remus is led through the forest, past clearings and thickets, over fallen trees and under swooping branches. He has no idea how Rhian — or any of the werewolves — know so innately where to go; it all looks the same to him. Still, he tries to memorise small details; a rock shaped oddly like a house elf’s head, a mossy stump overgrown with mushrooms. He tells himself that maybe,  _ maybe _ , he’ll be here long enough to have to use the information. Anything to quell the frantic voice in his head that won't stop hissing,  _ you’ll be dead within the week. _

“Here we are,” Rhian announces, dropping his hand.

They’ve reached a clearing in front of that same steep, jagged cliff he first woke up in. It’s littered with caves, and Remus can see that the caves have been turned into makeshift homes, with thick, lumpy beds and clothes hanging to dry from lines drawn across the ceilings. The clearing itself seems to be a sort of communal area, with a great crackling fire pit set up in the middle, surrounded by low benches carved from tree trunks. 

Remus isn’t sure how many people are actually in Greyback’s pack, but there are at least a dozen that he can see just in this clearing. A few burly young men are carefully portioning off a couple of deer carcasses, and a pair of women strip rabbits of their skins, spreading the fur tight and pinning it in place to let it dry. A group of five lounge near the caves, sprawled on the grass and chatting easily. Remus’ stomach lurches as he spots Ev sitting alone, slowly sharpening a curved dagger.

Rhian pulls him forward, past the group that is now laughing uproariously and into a cave that is, for now, unoccupied. She stops in front of a small cot covered with thick, grey furs.

"You can kip here," she says. "I can find you some pajamas, if you like."

"I'm fine, thanks." 

Remus lowers his aching body onto the low cot. The twinging ache of his hip as he sits is almost welcome in its familiarity. Rhian, rummaging in her bag, pulls out a small vial of a dark blue potion. 

"For sleep," she says, handing it to him. She pats his shoulder softly, smiles, and turns to leave.

Once she's gone, Remus takes a long, deep breath, holding it for as long as he can, concentrating as  _ hard _ as he can to not let the tears fall. His hands tremble around the vial of Dreamless Sleep. He wonders if Greyback will keep his word, or if Remus will drop his guard, go to sleep, only to never wake up again.

He bows his head, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to silence the train of thought. He uncorks the vial and knocks back the potion; it's bitter and heavy on his tongue. 

Remus lies back over the furs, shoes still on, and closes his eyes. A heaviness is draping over him, pulling him down, down. Silver eyes flash behind his lids, wide and worried. He hears Sirius' voice,  _ Remus, why did you go, you knew it was a trap, Remus, why did you go, Remus…  _

He falls into unconsciousness with his chest aching and tears dripping into his hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I'd like to apologise for the long wait between updates! What ended up happening was I signed up for an upcoming Wolfstar fest, got my prompt, and spent an entire month just writing it because who am I to argue when inspiration strikes? But we are BACK baby, and also within the next couple of months I will have a new [completed] fic up once the fest posts and the authors are revealed!
> 
> Also, sorry for what I put Remus through but Greyback is a Grade A dick and sometimes it just be like that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter and I VERY MUCH hope the next update will be much sooner than this last one. I appreciate every single comment and kudos even if I don't respond they mean the WORLD to me and I love every one. Thank you so much and stay safe out there! <3


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